


Trouble in Paradise

by CMajorBlues



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Five Days of Jisbon, Post Season 3, Red John identity solved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMajorBlues/pseuds/CMajorBlues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're going to see each other in new situations and new places, and you're going to find out how trustworthy I am." </p>
<p>A Red John case unearths a secret from Jane's past, shattering the little trust he has with Lisbon, so he decides to try and win it back with "The Five Days of Jisbon." As Red John draws ever closer, can he do it before his time runs out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tears of Red

**Author's Note:**

> I'm finally making the move from fanfiction.net to AO3! Editing along the way as I go, but I still have 5 more chapters to upload before it's finished. This was my first ever fic so, although it's not my best, it's still special to me~

_Resting his head on top of the steering wheel, Patrick Jane cut the engine and closed his eyes. As he listened to the gentle lull of the trees, he breathed in through his nose, and released. He hoped the headache creeping up on him would go away, and the same went for the rest of his troubles._

_He was still shaking from the TV interview he done live only a few hours ago. At the time, all the things he had said seemed to be the what the viewers needed to hear, the right things for the listeners and the hosts to know, but now he couldn't help thinking he had made a terrible mistake. Talking about Red John always made him feel nervous, and on live television he found the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. He could blame it on the rage and hatred he felt towards Red John, but he had_ _meant every word._

" _An ugly tormented little man…" The voice in his head seemed to echo around the inside of the car. Had he really said that on live TV? About a serial killer who thought it was funny to draw a smiley face on the wall in his victim' s blood after he'd killed them? He shuddered at the images which flashed in front of his eyes, remembering the photos he had been asked to study time and time again with people praying he would find something in them, something out of place that would give them a trail to follow. But he had learned, almost from the moment the police had asked for his help, that Red John was too careful and too clever to make mistakes._

" _Inhale, exhale; inhale, exhale, just continue the routine" he whispered out loud, clenching his eyes until he saw bright white lines and black dots. A gentle throbbing was beginning to pulse in the back of his head, and he decided he would stay here until he stopped shaking before going inside. Seeing the face of his little girl as she slept would make this all go away._

_He sat up slowly, leaning his head back onto the head rest for support, and took the keys out of the ignition. Reaching for his bag, he couldn't help feeling like there was someone watching him, but he quickly pushed the feeling away. He didn't need to worry about anything like that. Only family and close friends knew where he lived, and they had lived out here in the middle of nowhere overlooking the sea for nearly six years. They had never been burgled, trespassed or had any sort of trouble, so why now? Why worry about it now?_

_He got out of the car and pinched the bridge of his nose, staggering a little before gaining his footing again. He sighed heavily and began walking towards the house. The door was already open, left on the latch like always, and he picked up the mail addressed to him in the porch. Just a brief glimpse at the first two letters was enough to send his heart beating twice as fast in nervous panic._

_They were from 'her'._

_He put them on the side along with his keys. He could deal with those tomorrow after he'd had some sleep._

_Closing the door, he made his way across the living room, moving the little pink bicycle out of the way so nobody else would trip over it in the morning. Each step up the stairs seemed to lift the weight off his shoulders as he thought about seeing his wife and being able to recount how he felt about today' s interview with her. One thing he had come to learn over the passed few years was that his wife was the one person he could talk to about anything. Almost anything._

_He noticed a piece of paper tacked onto the front of their bedroom door and he smiled. It was a regular thing his daughter would do, leave him a little note explaining what she had done in the day, hoping she would see him in the morning. It broke his heart knowing his job stopped him from seeing enough of her._

_As he drew closer, he realised the note was not hand written but printed from a computer. He felt his heart sink. His wife must have gone to bed, leaving him a note reminding him that his dinner was in the fridge and she would talk to him in the morning. He needed somebody to talk to right now, but he appreciated her leaving a note and he knew how tired she had been lately because of her own job._

" _ **Dear mister Jane,"**_ _he read the first three words and immediately knew there was something wrong. The notes which were usually left to him were always addressed to 'Daddy' or 'Jane', yet this was formally addressed to him and the incorrect capitalization and spelling of 'Mr' was wrong. His wife would never let herself or their daughter make that mistake. Something was wrong and the smile on his face fell rapidly as he read the rest of the note._

" _ **I do not like to be slandered in the media, especially by a dirty money grubbing fraud."**_ _Money grubbing, surely the person meant money grabbing? He thought for a moment about whose money he could have taken unwillingly but couldn't recall any. 'Slandered in the media'? He closed his eyes tightly and opened them again, hoping he had misread the words. His wife must have come downstairs and had a drink of wine before typing this up, maybe as an odd sort of joke, because the only person he could think of speaking to the media about was Red John._

_Red John._

" _ **If you were a real psychic,"** No. H_ _e earned his money rightfully and used it to help pay for his family' needs! He had been born with a gift of reading people, so why not use it? Oh god. He wanted to scream, to hit, to smash the pictures on the walls, to wrench open the door to which the note was stuck, but he was afraid. Afraid that what was happening right now was real._

" _ **instead of a dishonest little worm..."**_ _The shaking which had begun in his legs suddenly stopped as he froze on the spot. There was no way he could know about that. Surely he must be referring to what he had said about him on the television show, he couldn't possibly know about 'her'. Even his wife didn't know, so how on earth could he? Maybe is was 'her' who had left this as some sort of cruel joke, pretending to be the one person he feared most in the world, but he knew it was not her. This was him._

"… _ **you wouldn't need to open the door to find out what I've done to your lovely wife and child."**_ _A bead of sweat trickled down his back and he could feel the blood drain from his face. This wasn't happening, this was not real. He'd merely fallen asleep in his car outside with his head on the steering wheel, and he would wake up in a matter of seconds. He was having trouble breathing, the hallway felt like it was spinning twice as fast, leaving just him and the door suspended in time, a piece of wood blocking the way to an image he could not possibly imagine._

_And then everything suddenly seemed to move in slow motion, his hand reaching out to the door, the beads of sweat trickling down his face; his dry mouth swallowing to gain more moisture, so he could breathe properly. His hand finally reached the cold metal. He twisted the handle and pushed, a sinister squeak echoing all around the room as it swung inwards._

_The red smiley face was the first thing he saw. Shining in the light which had been purposefully placed underneath. It burned down on him like the sun, imprinting its twisted red smirk into his mind so it would never be forgotten, a punishment he knew Red John had wanted him to face. It was an exact replica to the one in the photos, all of them slightly different in size yet still the motif to each murder he committed, an inside joke which nobody else was in on. A face which wept tears of joy in its victims own blood._

_Pulling his gaze away from the dripping red face, he surveyed the rest of the darkened room, noticing there was an obvious sign of a struggle by the bedside table. Picture frames were all over the floor; broken glass scattered around like snow along with earrings and smashed bracelets from the jewellery box lying on its side. The mirror had been caught in the scuffle as well; the light from the moon dancing in _different directions_ off the smashed pieces, illuminating the room where the lamp could not._

_The largest piece was covered in the blood of his wife and little girl. He couldn't see his daughter' s body because his wife had been placed top of her, almost as if she had tried to protect her from what she knew was going to happen. The roses he had given her only yesterday had fallen around her, along with the vase which was lying at the bottom of the bed, its water mixing with the blood surrounding his daughter's head._

_The sticks which his legs had turned to suddenly snapped and he buckled onto his knees, not even registering the pain or the sound he made. A dull ringing in his ears was becoming louder and louder the more he took in the scene. His whole body shook uncontrollably. Mustering all the energy he had left he crawled over to the telephone, dialled 9-1-1 and hung up before the woman on the other end could ask any more questions. Looking back now he was surprised the phone hadn't been smashed or the wire hadn't snapped in the struggle, but it was nothing to be thankful for._

_He collapsed in the corner, resting his elbows on knees and his head fell into his hands. He let the pain come, embracing his body and squeezing him tight. Tears broke free and his sobs echoed loudly around the entire room, breaking the silence and making his throat burn. Lifting his head he cried out to the ceiling, shouted up to the heavens, questioning why they let this happen to the people he loved most, why hadn't they stopped it? He shouted until he couldn't breathe, until he felt his lungs might collapse in on themselves, before slumping onto his side and curling up, tears still streaming down his face._

_He hadn't been there for them when they needed him. He hadn't been here to stop Red John, to protect this from happening to them. He had opened his mouth on live television and not listened to the words of warning the police had given to him. It was his fault. While he had been driving back in his car, stopping every now and then to let people cross in front of him, wasting precious time, Red John had been inside his house and now the two people he loved most in the world were both dead._

_He could see his wife's face, her hair strewn wildly everywhere, stuck to her cheeks with her own dried blood. The deep cut in her neck was still wet and he watched a trickle of scarlet seep from the wound onto the floor. His eyes blurred as he reached over and ran a hand over a piece of her hair. He twisted it round his finger a couple of times before letting it drop back onto the floor, the tip of it slowly turning red._

_Curling his hand back into his chest he felt his palm glide over a shard of the mirror. It flashed in the lamplight as he picked it up, slowly raising himself until he was sitting against the wall facing the bed. He hadn't realised how hot it was in this room until he pressed his back into the wall, its cool touch instantly sending a ripple through the hairs on the back of his neck. The shard from the mirror was cold in his hands. He turned it over and gazed at the man staring back at him – blood shot eyes, untidy hair; pale sweaty skin. If a stranger were to walk in this room right now they wouldn't recognize him. They might even think that he was the mad man who had done this._

_Holding the mirror shard flat in his hand, he looked out of the window into the inky black sky where the moon was shining, mocking him with its beauty. Turning back to his wife and child he saw how, apart from the blood, they looked as if they had both fallen asleep on the floor, their eyes closed and arms wrapped around each other in a tight embrace. Another tear fell as he imagined them both dying without any pain, but knowing that Red John would not have shown any mercy, more tears leaked down his cheeks._

_Slowly, he held the sharp piece flat in his palm, and closed his fingers._

_A dribble of blood trickled down his wrist. The pain rushed up his arm and he felt his eyes roll back in his head. Yes, he was finally getting what he deserved. He needed more, so he crushed his fingers tighter into the mirror shard, hearing it snap in two. The blood was falling faster now, tricklinh down his wrist but he didn't care, it wasn't enough._

_He realised he was holding his breath and let it out heavily. This was no good. He needed more. Summoning up all the energy he had left, he squeezed his hand as tight as he could until he felt his own nails slicing into his palm. The sound of the mirror splintering into tiny pieces was satisfying to hear, the pain in his hand was so sore it was becoming numb. His whole body shook as he unclenched his hand and gazed down at the of now mangled hand._

_The room rushed around and around, his eyes growing heavier from the pain as it began to take hold of him. The smell of blood snaked into his nostrils and it didn't take long for his head to find the floor. He could feel the earth moving. He could tune into space and time itself, undo everything which had happened today, turn back time. He could undo it all._

_Before the darkness took him, two thoughts ran through his mind. One was that he would never ever stop looking for Red John until he had slit the sick bastard's own throat. The second was something he noticed when he turned his head to the side. Each one of Red John's victims was exactly the same. Cause of death, smiley face positioned to be noticed first, slashed wrists and neck. But there was something different here. The difference being his wife's feet._

_When he had kissed her goodbye that morning, she had been getting out of the shower and he had accidentally dropped his keys onto the floor. Bending down to pick them up, he remembered her having clear toenails, yet they were now messily painted red. To his horror, he saw that they had not been painted in red nail varnish by his wife._

_They had been painted in his wife's own blood._


	2. Scarlet Companion

"Food is there to eat, Van Pelt."

Flecks of bread flew from Rigsby's mouth as he took another bite out of his sandwich. Grace looked at him in disgust, and watched a dollop of mayonnaise fall onto his tie. She was having a hard time keeping her face straight, so she turned away and replied to him facing her computer.

"Yes, food is there to eat, Wayne."

Unlike him, she never used surnames when having casual conversations unless it was with Jane.

"But you do realise the food isn't going anywhere? You don't have to eat all of it because it'll vanish or someone will come along and take it," and to prove her point, she snapped the lid of her lunchbox shut, still containing four carrot sticks and a yoghurt, and slid it into her bag with a smile. Lisbon and Cho exchanged a look. Communicating to each other without words wasn't hard when they were both thinking the same thing right now.

This was a conversation which happened almost everyday. Rigsby would bring in hoards of food, making as much noise as he could when he brought it so Van Pelt would notice him, and then they would bicker over how unhealthy it was, how expensive it was, how fast he ate it; the list was endless. Cho and Lisbon, on the other hand, knew the real meaning behind the talk of sandwiches and health.

It wasn't hard to see Rigsby's face flush whenever he walked into the same room as Van Pelt or his eyes gleam with happiness whenever she laughed at something he'd said. The same went for Van Pelt. Whenever she saw him struggling with a new lead on a case, the look of pain on her face was always obvious and the arguments she started with him always turned into sly flirting. Lisbon smiled to herself as she looked away from Cho, knowing that he too had noticed all the little things going on between them. Even though they weren't dating anymore, they were still very much in love.

Lisbon was pretending to look through the papers from their last case, one of their quickest to finish, but she was actually keeping an eye on the man lying on the leather sofa. Patrick Jane had been gazing into space throughout this whole conversation which was unusual, because he almost always sat up and joined in the bickering between Van Pelt and Rigsby, chipping in with a different argument or opinion whenever he thought someone had the upper hand.

From where she was sitting she could just make out the top of his head and the tip of his shoes and, to anyone else sitting in her position, he looked as if he was sleeping. But she knew Jane was not sleeping because, when slept, he folded his arms and tilted his head to the side, and she could see that his hands were clasped across his chest and he was gazing up at the ceiling, his thumbs gently bouncing together. He was thinking.

"Jane, can you back me up here please?" Rigsby's voice pleaded over to the man lying on the sofa, meaning that today is was Van Pelt who had the upper hand.

"I'm surprised you haven't said anything yet seeing as you were the one who started the whole 'brown bread is better' thing…Jane?"

Cho and Van Pelt looked over at the sofa, their faces baring the same confused expression. Jane not getting involved in an argument was like a thirsty man seeing water and not taking a drink. 

"Jane…?" Van Pelt's voice was barely audible, but Lisbon still heard it from where she was sitting in the corner.

"Jane, are you with us?" She shot a questioning glance over at Rigsby who shrugged and shook his head. He was just as confused as she was. Cho, as usual, showed no sign of knowing nor caring what was going on and continued to stare at the phone on his desk, waiting for it to ring and bring him something to do. When the phone began to ring all of three seconds later, she saw Cho give a sneaky sigh of relief before picking it up.

"Kimball Cho." He was silent for a moment before turning to his desk and scribbling something down on a piece of paper. The person on the phone seemed to be talking fast because Cho's hand was flying across the paper.

"Okay we'll be right there. I'll tell her." He put the phone carefully back in its place and sat very still for a moment, eyes glazed over, staring down at the little essay he had just written.

"Cho? Is everything okay?" Her voice brought the agent out of his trance, and he stood up to put his jacket on, still not making eye contact.

"Here," he handed the piece of paper over to Lisbon and sat back down with his jacket on, resuming his troubled gaze into the distance. Van Pelt and Rigsby shot wide eyed glances at each other, both utterly perplexed by the sudden mood change in the room. First Jane not wanting to join in their argument and now Cho was acting odd after a mysterious phone call. What was going on?

Lisbon glanced down at the note and her eyes focused on two words in Cho's messy handwriting. Two words she always dreaded.

_Red John._

He had claimed another victim, another one of his "wives". She closed her eyes and sighed, thinking about how difficult it was going to be dealing with Jane when he found out. Not only was he emotionally difficult to deal with whenever the case involved Red John, he was a lot more difficult to talk to when she needed help. He was always thinking about his family, how he could finally get his revenge on Red John, and he thought of nothing else but that. Lisbon couldn't say she understood how he felt but, having brothers of her own who she loved dearly, she knew that if Red John had drawn his face in any of their rooms, she would be out for revenge just like Jane was. 

"Right, let's go." She was their boss, their leader. She had to stay in control. Not letting them see any signs of worry in her voice, she spoke out to them all, making eye contact as she addressed them.

"Rigsby, Cho, I want you to drive to the house and talk to the family, see if she seemed different or met anyone new in the past year. Van Pelt stay here and process any information we find, and I'll go to the scene."

Immediately they all sprang to life. Cho darted for the door, glad to have something to do, and Rigsby grabbed his jacket to follow him. Lisbon showed Van Pelt Cho's mini essay and she began typing names and locations, fingers flying over the keyboard, her gaze never leaving the screen.

Lisbon stood rooted to the spot beside Van Pelt, watching her type and wondering what to do now. Should she take take to the scene of the crime, or leave him here, get answers to her questions, evaluate the scene _then_ come back and wake him? She sighed again, knowing the answer already. Turning around she saw he was looking at her as if he already knew what was going on, and what she was about to ask.

"You coming?"

She didn't look at him as she crossed over to the table and picked up her keys, but he didn't say anything, just picked up his coat and walked over to stand next to her, a small smile on his face.

"Did you really have to ask?"

The journey there was nothing but silence. It didn't bother Lisbon because she had enough on her mind to think about. She was gearing herself up for a very long day. Arguing with Jane, clearing up after the people he upset, and running around trying to solve the case as fast as she could. _Better warn him now,_ she thought,  _prepare him before we arrive._ She cleared her throat as they turned off the main road. 

"Jane, the victim…the victim is…"

She'd left Cho's piece of paper back at the office on her desk, so she changed tack quickly.

"…a white female, late thirties, she has daughter, but the girl seems to have gone missing."

_Deep breath Lisbon_

Her brain felt as if it was slowly melting, each thought merging together, unable to pick one from another.

_Just say it!_

They drove up the drive way and she cut the engine. She looked over at him, making sure she held his gaze as he waited for her to finish.

"It's Red John."

His gaze was fixed on the house before them. "I thought it was. Why didn't you just tell me back at the office?"

They both got out of the car and Lisbon had to practically run to keep up with him. It had begun…

"Oh please, you know exactly why. You're already starting to do it right now!"

She was thinking out loud and Jane seemed to realise this, because he stopped halfway across the lawn and turned to face her.

"I'm sorry I'm so predictable Lisbon, but Red John cases are personal to me, you know that."

His grey eyes burned with pain and Lisbon had to look away over the tree tops to stop herself getting lost in them.

"I understand Jane, I do, it's just sometimes you really are difficult to control when its cases like these."

She buried her hands deep into her pockets and looked at the towering house in front of them. He turned away and looked at the grass beneath him, scuffing it slightly with his feet.

"I'm sorry," and with one last piercing stare, he turned and began walking up the pearl white staircase, leaving Lisbon with no choice but to breathe in deeply and follow him.

A police officer led her into a grand foyer with a high ceiling and two staircases, leading up the sides of the wall, meeting in the middle. A golden chandelier filled the room with light, and Lisbon saw two doors on either side of the room leading off further into the house, and an archway at the very top of the stairs which continued through to the second floor. The police officer who had taken her through to the foyer turned to address her and Lisbon noticed he was shaking badly; his face a ghostly white. Yet another thing she had seen before.

"First case?"

She hoped her voice sounded sympathetic, the poor man looked like he was about to throw up, and who could blame him? For his first case, Red John wasn't exactly someone who shed as little blood as possible.

"Yeah, firs' one," he swayed on the spot and Lisbon gently lowered him into a nearby chair.

"Head between your knees, take deep breaths. Go out and get some fresh air. Before you do, can you tell me what we got here?"

"Sorry, of course ma'am, it's just all that blood made me feel…"

The officer's voice sounded less shaky from between his legs and, despite everything, she couldn't stop a tiny smile creeping onto her face.

"Her name is Marianne Odell, late thirties; she's in the main bedroom at the top of the stairs. Teenage daughter, Josephine, is missing but there is no sign of a struggle so she could have escaped, right?"

He turned his head up to face her, almost pleading to be given some good news. Lisbon knew better. Red John didn't show mercy to any of his victims or their family. Jane's wife and daughter were proof of that.

"You leave that to us, now go and get some fresh air"

"Yes ma'am," she helped him to his feet, and watched as he staggered slowly over to the front door only to collapse at the top of the steps, resuming the head-between-the-legs position.

As she was climbing the stairs, she looked at the pictures hanging on the walls, each individual frame slightly higher than the other, mirroring the rising shape of the stairs. The photos were like a timeline, each single frame showing a little baby growing up into the present day teenager. The first showed a pretty woman holding the baby high above her head, the baby's face filled with sheer joy at being lifted into the air. The woman must be Marianne Odell.

The next was of the baby, now a toddler, pushing a pram with a toy doll in and holding an orange sippy cup in one hand. The next a five year old blowing out candles on a cake, a ten year old with her arms wrapped around two friends, a twelve year old in a beautiful blue dress. The very last photo, as Lisbon reached the top of the stairs, was the biggest of them all and she took a step back in wonder.

The teenage girl was now as beautiful as her mother, piercing silvery eyes and a smile which could melt any frown. Her hair fell around her face in a cascade of gold against her perfectly tanned skin, but this was'nt what made Lisbon gape in awe. The resemblance between the girl and her mother was obvious, the slightly pointed nose made them both seem like their smile was wider, and the shape of their faces was a perfect oval. The eyes, the hair and the cheeky grin were not inherited from her mother, yet they were still so familiar. She took yet another step back. It was like trying to remember somebody you saw in the street every now and again; she couldn't quite put the features to the face and yet…

She gasped. How could she not have spotted it before when she first saw it?

"Agent Lisbon?"

She jumped at the man addressing her, and nearly tumbled down the stairs.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but would you like to come through and examine the scene? We'd like to take the body away to do an autopsy, the sooner the better." The man adjusted his gloves and motioned for her to follow him.

"Of course, what can you tell me about her so far?"

The hallway was narrow so she had to walk slightly behind the man, striding to keep up with him as they flew past door after door.

"It's just like the other Red John cases, throat and wrists slashed, smiley face drawn in the victims blood on the wall directly opposite the door, and her toes are painted in her own blood too. Obvious signs of a struggle as you will see in just a second," he opened a door to the left and they walked inside, "also this was written on the glass door."

He pointed to the sliding door, which opened onto a little balcony overlooking the garden, and in dripping red letters were the words "REVEALS IN TROY"

"Any idea what it means Agent Lisbon, because it sure has us officers scratching our heads."

He walked over to the table, picked up his camera and began photographing the area around the body which was sprawled in the middle floor.

Marianne Odell did not look so beautiful when she was covered in blood. Her hair fell wildly around her head, covering her face entirely, but the neck was visible, revealing the horizontal line where she had been sliced open. Blood had spurted everywhere, not just onto her white nightdress but the walls, the desk, even the ceiling. Both her arms lay either side of her hips, the slashes on her wrists in plain view dripping blood onto the already crimson carpet. Lisbon tore her eyes away from the lifeless body and quickly took in the rest of the room. Smashed glass littered the floor from the tiny drinks cabinet in the corner, the duvet from the four poster bed was on the floor and a chair was lying on its side beside the broken mirror.

Red John's smiley face grinned at her from the wall; laughing at her because she couldn't catch him.

She strode out of the room and walked quickly down the hallway. Wrenching open the nearest door; she slammed it shut and closed her eyes breathing in deeply. Everything about the previous room brought back memories from the past, none of which were ones she wanted to remember in a hurry. Turning slowly around, she breathed out and opened her eyes, not knowing which room she had randomly run into.

Tears burned in her eyes and, for the second time that day, she let out a quiet gasp.

It was as if she had walked into a memory and she was her teenage self all over again. The room was an almost exact replica to her own back when she was a teenager, small and plain yet cosy and welcoming at the same time. A slightly untidy bed was crammed into the corner under the open window and a dream catcher dangled from the ceiling overhead, slowly spinning round and round in the light breeze. There was a large wooden desk with papers and pens all over the place, some had fallen onto the chair, and the bin beside it was overflowing with screwed up paper balls, probably from all the late night mistakes and ideas for essay assignments. A large purple rug was in the middle of the room, the colour of it clashing terribly with the walls and the carpet. 

Apart from the wardrobe bursting with expensive clothes, and the different taste in books crammed onto the shelves, this room was almost a mirror image of her own. A safe haven the girl could come to if anything was troubling her, needing to let it all out, to scream, shout and cry. Moving over to the desk she looked at the pictures circling the mirror. You didn't need to be psychic to work out that Josephine was a popular girl. In only three photos, out of the many she had, she was with the same group of two girls. All the others were of her dancing at a party, never holding any alcohol or smoking. In every single photo she was beaming and Lisbon found herself smiling sadly back. She really wanted to find this girl; the similarities between them were scary and if Jane were here right now…

Jane.

Where was that man?

Panic flooded through her and she straightened up quickly, swearing under her breath. She hadn't seen him since he'd apologized to her out on the lawn and, looking back, she could never remember a time when he had not looked over a body with her and pointed something out, especially on a Red John victim. So where was he now? A horrible feeling was beginning to creep up the back of her neck and she shivered. Something was wrong.

Opening the door to the hallway she quickly poked her head out, looking both ways before closing the door quietly behind her. Thoughts were trickling in like she was having them poured into her head; they hammered at her brain making her head spin and she stopped to lean against the wall. This house was so big it wouldn't be hard for someone to hide in a room, and Jane was well known for snooping where he wasn't supposed to. What if Red John had him cornered in a room somewhere tied to a chair, holding a knife to his throat, or worse…?

Lisbon was already speed dialling the others downstairs when she noticed the door to the room next to her was open, and someone was inside. She could see their reflection in the bedside mirror, body hunched over, head in hands as if they were weeping, but from where she was standing she couldn't see the person's face through the crack in the door.

Until they looked up. And she knew immediately who is was.

In all the years Lisbon had known him, she had never seen Patrick Jane cry. He was always making sure everyone was happy or comforting those when they did weep, at the ready with some not so funny joke or a friendly smile. Not once had he ever cried in front of anyone. She knew it had something to do with the doctors at the clinic he was sent to, telling him to leave all his sadness and regrets behind him and move forward in life. Somehow she couldn't imagine Jane following this advice. Yes, he may have left some of his sadness behind, but regrets? Never.

Lisbon leaned her head on the doorframe, watching silent tears fall down his face, and debated whether he would want comforting or if he would be embarrassed. Choosing their friendship over his embarrassment, she silently pushed open the door and closed it behind her. He glanced at her in the mirror, but didn't bother to hide his red eyes or running nose, he just went back to looking at the floor. Seeing more tears fall down his face, Lisbon wanted to bundle him up in her arms and hug him tightly, but she knew she couldn't do that. It was against her rules and she knew Jane was still in love with his wife.

She sat down on the bed next to him and they both remained silent for what seemed like hours. Tears continued to fall down Jane's face, tearing her to shreds inside but she sat silently next to him, hands folded in her lap. Suddenly he stood up, and Lisbon jumped at the abrupt movement.

"Thank you for sitting with me Teresa, I'm sorry you had to see me like this," he pulled a tissue out of a box on the table and wiped his nose.

"Jane don't be sorry. Is there anything you want to ta-"

"Yes Lisbon, I feel terrible that you had to see me like this. It's just…it's just I-"

The door opened and the new officer walked into the room, relief flooding into his face.

"Agent Lisbon, some people are waiting for you downstairs. They say they need you to come back to the office with them." He looked nervously at Jane.

"You too Mr Jane, sir" and he hurried away down the corridor.

Jane rushed out of the room without another word and Lisbon followed, keeping a respected distance between them. She had known he would feel embarrassed and she felt stupid for even going in and sitting with him. Why hadn't she just left him alone and carried on walking down the corridor? This feeling put her in a bad mood and by the time she reached the bottom of the staircase, she had her famous scowl on.

"Alright, what have you got?"

Rigsby and Cho exchanged glances, making her even more agitated. She didn't need them giving her the information in bits, not when she was in a mood like this. She wanted it short and fast.

"Come on, what is it?"

Rigsby cleared his throat. "Umm Boss, can we talk about it back at the office?"

"Yeah, I'll take Jane" Cho cut in, already guiding a deep in thought Jane to the car before she could protest.

"Alright Rigsby, what the hell is going on? No, don't try and tell me to get in the car. Tell me it right now, what do you know?"

She was breathing heavily, feeling anger and the humiliation from just moments ago bubbling to the surface.

"Well, Gra-…I mean Van Pelt just called. She checked the victim's phone records from last night."

Lisbon sighed. She didn't need this right now.

"Rigsby please. You could have told me this when I finished up here, why do you need to tell me back at the office?"

Rigsby was getting nervous because of the mood she was in, so he had to swallow hard and shuffle through his notes before he spoke again.

"The thing is boss, what Van Pelt found involves one of us."

"Be a bit more specific, Rigsby." 

"I'm trying too Boss!"

The look she gave him was enough to make his face flush bright red, and his next few words came out in a jumble of stutters.

"I-I-I- sorry Boss, I- It's just…well, over the past two days, Marianne had around three 30 minute conversations with someone from our department."

Her blood ran cold. Marianne had called someone from their department? What if she had said something to them which had gotten her killed? Or maybe she had known something about Red John's identity and had managed to contact someone?

"Who Rigsby, who was it?"

"Well that's the thing Boss. I don't know how she knew him, but... she called Jane."


	3. Reaping Red Road

Cho and Jane sat in silence as they began the long drive back to the office. It was nearly three in the morning, and because there was no traffic on the roads, the speed Cho was driving at remained constant. So did the silence between them.

When Cho had first seen Jane coming down the stairs, he immediately noticed that something was wrong, but knew better than to ask questions, especially to someone as stubborn as Jane. Instead, he told Lisbon he would drive them both back to the office and gently pushed Jane in the direction of the door. Jane willingly followed him down the stairs and across the grass.

Jane's feet dragged across the lawn, a muddy line forming on the tips and sides of his shoes. His arms hung limply at his sides, hands clenched up into tight fists, but his head remained upright with eyes staring straight ahead. Cho opened the car door for him where he sat down, buckled up his seat belt and gazed downward at his hands resting in his lap.

Looking over, Cho saw he was still sitting in this exact same position 45 minutes later, and he was getting annoyed. He didn't like seeing Jane upset, so he decided to break the silence.

"Want to talk about it?"

He kept his gaze fixed on the road, wanting to seem casual, as if he wasn't too bothered with a reply. Jane turned to look at him and he couldn't help but feel relieved, hoping he might get a response.

"There's too much to tell."

The pain in his voice was enough to make Cho glance over, but he regretted it when he saw Jane's eyes filling with tears. He turned back to face the road. Cho wasn't good with emotions, especially when it came to other people's. But Jane was his friend, one of the strongest people he knew, and seeing him cry made him edgy. Something was very wrong.

"We've still got an hour's drive. I'm all ears." Anything was better than driving in silence, and Cho was beginning to get seriously worried about his friend.

Jane closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, breathing out a long breath which made his shoulders sag. He rested his elbow on the door and looked out into the darkness.

"I loved my wife, Cho. She was everything to me. When I walked into that room and saw her and my little girl dead, a piece of me died with them. I would do the unthinkable just to see her smile, or listen to my daughter practise the piano just one more time. The arguments between us were so rare, but even when we did I couldn't stay angry at her for very long. She made me the man I am now, taught me everything I know in life and reminded me never to take things for granted. She was always there when I needed her, but that day, I wasn't there when she needed me. For that, I will never forgive myself."

Cho could have guessed this from the way Jane behaved throughout any Red John case, jumping to decisions before thinking them through, getting himself into serious trouble and sometimes inflicting pain on people who didn't deserve to be hurt. Silence returned to the car and it was a couple of minutes before Jane spoke again.

"Before I met my wife, I was a completely different person. I grew up with my father in a trailer, travelling with a fun fair and we would move from town to town every couple of weeks. I learned tricks from the people we travelled with, including my own father. They taught me all sorts of magic and card tricks, and because I learned things quickly, my knowledge would broaden each day. From others I learned unpleasant tricks like how to pick pocket and the art of lying to people. My father never knew I could do these things but I found myself using them more often than I should.

"When my father realised I had was good at reading people, I became the boy who would help fund his dreams. At first I thought it was a great idea. Over the next few weeks, people came into our tent to ask me questions about their future or relationships, sometimes more personal things, but at night I would do shows on stage in the larger tent.

"My father always said I was a natural on the stage. Each day a few more seats would be taken up, and before either of us could blink people, people were having to stand at the back to watch. I won't lie; I enjoyed the rush I got every time the audience laughed at one of my jokes, or gasped at some of the things I told them. I remember one day a woman on the front row hadn't cracked a smile once throughout the whole show, but when I spoke out to the audience about her love of gardening, a man handed her a flower out of nowhere and she smiled such a beautiful smile."

His voice trailed off, and Cho thought he had fallen asleep with his head against the window, but when he spoke again his voice remained steady.

"One day, my father said he was bringing in a special client, a woman and her child. The woman was said to be very rich. I don't remember what her job was but I know the little girl was very sick. My father bought a cheap plastic crystal and he wanted me to pretend it was a 'magic healing stone' which could cure the girl of her illness. The moment I saw the little girl sitting helplessly in her wheelchair with tubes coming out of body, I knew I couldn't go along with it.

"The woman was pleading with me, begging my father for my help, so I ran outside. He followed me and I was forced to go back and lie. I told her that if she bought the stone her daughter would have a chance at surviving. She bought it and I never felt so ashamed. The relationship between my father and I died that night.

"I was nearly 17 and the shows were getting worse and worse because we didn't get along. One night we had a row on stage and I stormed off, leaving a packed tent full of people who'd paid to see me perform, but I didn't care. I went to our trailer, packed my tiny rucksack with clothes and, making sure I took at least half of the money I'd earned, I left with no idea where I was going. I kept walking and never looked back."

Cho knew better than to interrupt people in the middle of a story, but if he had he would have asked if Jane knew where his father was now. Jane never spoke about his blood family, only the family who were murdered by Red John. Where were they? Weren't they worried about their only son?  Jane had never mentioned having any brothers or sisters.

"For five years I lived a wild, free life. I was the guy who had no parents, no boundaries and nobody to tell me what to do. I went out a lot and I got my fair share of whatever they call it these days. I'm not proud of it, but I had to use my skills of pick pocketing until I managed to get a job and earn my own money. Twenty-one years old, a job I didn't enjoy, having to steal to get extra money and renting a small, messy apartment. I actually began to miss working at the fun fair and that…that made me mad."

His voice shook and Cho saw, out of the corner of his eye, that he had clenched his hands into fists and was glaring into the night.

"Then she came along Cho. Marianne turned everything right side up. My wife taught me so many things when we were together but…"

The penny dropped in Cho's brain and he tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs, watching the lights on the road speeding past them in one long strip, each little bulb falling into place behind the last, just like Jane's story.

"Marianne came into the place I was working and it began from there. She showed me the world through her eyes, how much I had been missing, wasting away in my tiny little apartment. Eighteen months later we were still dating, and she'd managed to get me a job where I could once again use my talent as my main act, just like at the fair. A couple of weeks later and I found myself doing a small slot on live television show. How I got there is another story, but for the next few months everything was perfect.

"Of course, it didn't last long." Jane sighed heavily.

"Marianne told me she had been seeing someone else, the ratings on the TV show dropped and they had to cut my slot so they could replace it with a more popular show. Marianne and I said goodbye and went our separate ways. She went to live with the guy she was seeing and I moved to California to start over once again.

"I don't need to tell you the rest. I fell in love with my wife; we got married and had a little girl two years later. I found another slot on television, only this time it was more popular. In August, the media went wild as Red John began claiming his first few victims and I was called in to help. Back then Red John hadn't committed as many crimes so we didn't have as much information on him as we do now, but I still had my thoughts. I just couldn't keep them to myself…"

Another powerful silence ricocheted between them, only this time Cho knew why. When Lisbon had first introduced Jane to the team, not one of them had not seen the interview in which he had insulted Red John.

"A few weeks before that day, I got a phone call from Marianne. She'd seen me on the show and had managed to trace my number through one of her friends on the show. We talked about how things were and memories from when we were together, just a conversation between two old friends. She asked if we could meet; catch up even more in person. I imagined we'd have a quick discussion over coffee and then get back to our lives."

The noise he made was a cross between a cough and a small laugh. Cho looked to his left and saw Jane's figure reflecting back at him in the window, shaking his head with a sad smile on his face.

"I walked straight past her when I arrived, she looked so different. You saw the pictures of her at the house?" He waved a hand, dismissing his need to go into a description of what she looked like.

"That was the woman I met at the café, but it was not the woman I fell in love with. She was gone, but we talked like the adults we were. I told her I was happily married with a little girl nearly 6 years old, but when I asked her how old her child, she looked down at her hands in her lap and began to fiddle with the table cloth."

Cho could feel his eyebrow beginning to raise but immediately stopped it. He couldn't understand why Jane thought this was a strange thing. Everyone fiddled with things from time to time, he usually did when he was at the office waiting for a call.

"You're probably wondering why I thought this was strange. " Jane knew him too well. "I knew that she was either hiding something, trying not to cry or very bored. I hadn't seen Marianne in over 11 years, but she was mirroring something my wife did whenever she was upset, eyes down, biting her lip. It was easy to see something was wrong. She told me she had a daughter, a beautiful daughter, but when I questioned her on the age again she told me she was nine. And everything made sense.

"Marianne's daughter is my child. Before that day, I didn't even know I had another child. Needless to say, the conversation went downhill from there. She told me she'd been too scared to tell me she was pregnant, hoping it would turn out to be her lover's child instead, but when over a year had past the obvious signs were there. She told me the only reason she had bothered to call me was because they were having money troubles, and 'our daughter' needed help as well as her. We argued and I left without another word.

"The next couple of weeks were a living hell. She sent letters to the house, left voicemails on my mobile, and she would ring every other day on the dot at 9pm. When my wife became suspicious, I told her it was an undercover officer on the Red John case who had to ring me at the precise time otherwise the police would get worried. I hated lying to her, and it hurt even more when she believed me, but eventually the phone calls stopped and everything seemed to go back to normal.

"The last letter I got from her was the day Red John 'visited' our house. I remember seeing it in the pile I picked up off the floor and not wanting to read it. I never did find out what was in the letter. The police must have taken it away or it just went into the bin. I never heard from her after that day, she just disappeared."

Was that it? Cho could understand why Jane was so upset, but he had seen him upset before and tears had never been shed. Talking about Red John, a guilty suspect being let free, seeing Lisbon unhappy. Cho had watched from afar, and all these times Jane had become angry or upset he had not once reacted like this.

"Yesterday Marianne called me completely out of the blue. She sounded troubled, and from what I could hear in the back ground, she was calling from a payphone. She didn't want her call to be traced. She asked me to meet her today in the same café where we had last met. This time it was urgent, not concerning the reason we had met the last time. Cho, I think she wanted to tell me something about Red John but, once again, I was too late."

Cho didn't know what to say. No words he uttered could possibly make Jane feel any better, and sympathy was something Jane hated.

"How many more, Cho?"

He was looking at him now, tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes.

"How many more of my friends is he going to kill before we finally catch him? I don't think I could live with myself if I lost anyone else, you or Rigsby or Van Pelt, Lisbon..." His words faded as he said that last name, tear tracks shining in the headlights of the on coming traffic. "I just couldn't go on. Why didn't he just kill me when I was tied to that chair? What does he want from me?"

He swallowed, turning back to look out of the window. Cho knew he wouldn't speak again until they got back to the office, so he thought through what he was going to say and cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, Jane. Red John left more clues at this scene than any of the others. Do you have any idea what 'Reveals in Troy' could mean? Think about it, maybe figuring that out will take us a step closer to catching him. We'll find Josephine too. Maybe she saw something and managed to escape. Don't worry about us. We'll always be here for you. You've stuck by me, so I'll do the same. I owe you."

He said these last few words looking across at the man with so many secrets, hoping he would find some comfort in his words. Cho was never really good at the whole 'sympathy speech' thing, but he felt like Jane needed a friend, somebody to reassure him that everything would be okay, even when it felt like the world was against him.

Jane looked back at Cho and a small smile appeared on his lips.

"Thanks for listening. I'd appreciate it if you kept all this between just you and I right now. I've never heard you give such a meaningful little speech but…that was good. I'm touched."

"Shut up." He turned back to face the road, trying to keep a straight face like he always did whenever somebody mocked him, but he found himself mirroring Jane's sad smile. He felt as if his 'sympathetic speech' had been more than just a joke to Jane, it had actually meant something. They remained silent for the rest of the journey, each lost in their own train thought.

But they both felt that the trust they already had in each other had just grown a whole lot stronger.


	4. Green Eyed with Crimson Heart

Hightower walked into Lisbon's office and told her she could go, as long as she was in early tomorrow because she had some important news. Once her back was turned, Lisbon slumped down into her chair and gazed out of the window, watching daylight beginning to push through the darkness. She closed her eyes and rested her head in her hands, feeling all the information she had found out that day beginning to pound against her forehead.

_Her car pulled into the parking lot at around 3.45am, and when the lift doors opened she bolted straight for her office, making sure she closed the door quietly behind her. Van Pelt was busy at her computer and Lisbon knew she had only a few minutes to compose herself before the red head called her to look at something. Right now she just wanted to be alone._

_Questions were bursting in her head and she could hear them echoing in her mind as if someone was speaking them loudly through a megaphone into her ear. "Why the hell was Jane crying?" "Could it be something to do with the girl?" "Did he know the woman?" "Why didn't you comfort him more?" Amongst them, there was always a red smiley face. She closed her eyes and blew on her wrists to cool her temperature down._

_She wished she could just pick up the phone and dial Jane's number. She knew it backwards by heart, but something in the back of her mind stopped her. When Lisbon needed somebody, even if it_ _was_ _just to agitate her, Jane was always there. Somebody to compare thoughts about a case with, a person who she argued with the most, a man who could make her laugh when she was upset. He was always there, so why shouldn't she try and make up for all those times?_

" _Boss?" Right on cue, Van Pelt was at the ready with her information._

" _Are you okay? I can come back a bit later if you like? I brought coffee."_

_She handed Lisbon a steaming mug and leaned back against the wall. The smell of caffeine was enough to make all the confusion go away, the rich aroma fogging over her brain, bringing her back into the small room she was sitting in._

" _No I'm fine and thank you."_ _She clasped both hands around the mug of coffee, feeling its heat rocket up her arms. Bliss._

" _I thought you could use it. You've had a long drive back, right? Another Red John case as well."_

" _Don't remind me. Tell me what you got, any new leads on Marianne? Did you track down her family?"_

" _We're trying to get hold of her mother, her father passed away a couple of weeks ago, but they don't seem to be answering our calls. Apart from that everything seems to be normal. They owned two horses which she regularly bought food and accessories for. Some new shoes every few weeks, petrol for the car, and that's it really."_

_Lisbon took a sip of coffee, trying to hide her disappointment. It wasn't like she hadn't expected it; nothing about this case was any different and, compared to the others, nothing stood out as a possible 'clue'. Except the girl,_ _Josephine. L_ _isbon had never known Red John to spare a life and he wasn't the sort of person to make mistakes. Taking people hostage wasn't one of his traits and she couldn't think of a reason why he would change his pattern now, so the only other alternative was that the girl must have escaped. They had to find this girl._

_The question had just formed on her lips when she heard Van Pelt frown at a piece of paper she was holding. She reminded herself to ask it later._

" _Boss…I'm not sure if this is interesting or not but…it's kinda odd, I'm not sure what to make of it. It might just be a coincidence."_

_Any part of her which hadn't been woken up by the coffee was now completely alert. 'Odd' and 'not sure' being used in the same sentence by Van Pelt was not a good thing._

_"What do you mean odd?"_

" _Well," she opened the file she was holding and placed it on the desk, "I've checked all of Marianne's call records and I went through some of_ _Josephine's_ _as well, although she didn't really use her cell phone that much for a teenage. Anyway," she hurriedly began flicking through the sheets of paper, realising she was rambling. Lisbon began tapping the side of her mug, eyebrow raised. Van Pelt knew that insignificant facts made Lisbon impatient._

" _It says here that she's been making phone calls to this one number quite a few times and they were pretty regular too, hang on..."_

_She reached into her pocket, pulled out a highlighter and took off the top with her teeth. Her hand flew back and forth between the two pages, covering them both with florescent yellow stripes. When she had finished, she put the lid back on the pen and held up the piece of paper for Lisbon to see._

" _Okay so the phone calls I've highlighted are the ones made to that numbers, and all the others are just calls to different people."_

_Lisbon thought for a moment before answering. "What was her job, anything really stressful?"_

" _She was running her own fashion business from home and, from the way she could spend over $600 on a saddle, I'd say she was doing pretty well."_

" _$600? Well, look up whoever it is and ask Cho and Rigsby to bring them in."_

" _I'm on it." Van Pelt gathered up her file and hurried through the door._

_Lisbon drained the last few drops of coffee from her mug and placed it on top of an old magazine. $600 for a saddle? Geez. T_ _hrough the blinds on the door, Lisbon was surprised to see Van Pelt walking towards her office again. When Van Pelt opened the door, her face held the same confused expression._

" _Boss, I can't call Cho and Way-..Rigsby."_

' _That was a close one,' Lisbon thought, but she pretended she hadn't heard._

" _Why not, she made calls to someone didn't she?"_

" _Yes, but when I put the number into my computer it came up with a house which is under police_ _surveillance_ _."_

_She hadn't been expecting that._

" _Whose place is it, did you find out?"_

" _A woman called_ _Kristina Frye. Isn't that the woman who we think Red John kidnapped?"_

_Kristina Frye...but that was impossible. Nobody had seen or heard from her in nearly two whole months. She was last seen by all of them in this very building not talking to anyone but Jane who had to light a candle and hypnotize her into taking. Even then she wasn't making any sense, so why would she be contacting Marianne?_

" _Oh, I remember her now. I was downstairs when she…"_

_Van Pelt gulped back words of uncertainty and Lisbon could see that she still blamed herself for Kristina's disappearance._

" _It's not your fault she disappeared. We don't know that she didn't just jump out of the window to escape. These phone calls can back that point up! We found her, didn't we?"_

_Van Pelt stepped backwards and slowly sank into the long armchair, clasping her hands on top of the file in her lap. Lisbon was ready, her fingers wrapped tightly around the handle on one of the draws in her desk. It contained tissues, and it looked like she might need them._

" _I really liked her Lisbon, she was really nice."_

_Her heart sank. Van Pelt always stuck to the book - not calling her 'Boss' was a rare thing._

" _It is my fault she's the way she is. If I had gone up and checked on her, maybe I could have stopped her leaving or fought off her attacker. At least then I could feel like I tried. Now I just feel like I turned a blind eye to it, I just let it happen." A tear slid down her face but she quickly wiped it away._

_The last time Lisbon had seen her crying was when she had ended her relationship with Rigsby. Lisbon and Jane had walked up to the lift doors to find a red eyed and shaking Van Pelt. Her and Lisbon ended up sharing the lift together because Jane did one of his 'noble things' and left the two of them alone. Luckily, it hadn't been as awkward as she thought it would be. She'd rubbed the crying woman's shoulder, told her she was sorry it had to be this way and explained that, if it were up to her, she would change the rules in a heartbeat._

" _Grace," she tried to make her voice as soft as possible without sounding patronising, "listen, don't beat yourself up about it. These phone calls are enough for us to get a warrant. We'll search the house again and maybe we'll find something that wasn't there before. It's not your fault and I don't want you blaming yourself."_

_She gave her a long, hard stare and then smiled sadly. Seeing Van Pelt upset was not helping her with her own emotions, so she asked her something which she hoped would lighten the mood._

" _What did you like about her? You spent a lot more time with her then me"_

_To Lisbon's relief Van Pelt raised her head and grinned._

" _I didn't really know her that well either, but I liked all her different beliefs, like how she believed there was an afterlife. I admired her for that. Oh, I was really glad she liked the restaurant I recommended to her and Jane too! It's one of my favourite places and when Jane asked me if I knew a nice place, I just had to s-"_

_Lisbon snapped back to reality, immediately feeling guilty for not listening, but she was all ears now._

" _Wait…Jane took Kristina to a restaurant?" Her heart was beating twice as fast, hoping she had heard wrong._

" _Yes! Didn't he tell you about it? I was so unhappy when I had to call and ask him to come back to the office. I told Jane to take her to Giorgio's because the pizza there is simply-"_

" _So he took her on a date?" Three words flashed in her mind, repeating over and over again._

_Jane doesn't date._

" _Well…"_

_Jane doesn't date. Jane doesn't date._

" _I guess it was!" Lisbon's heart sank even further when she saw the look of sheer delight on Van Pelt's face._

_"Who would have thought? Maybe he's going to start dating again! I really hoped Kristina would get better. They would have made the perfect couple."_

_The perfect couple…the perfect couple…_ the perfect couple…

It echoed in her mind like she was listening to somebody shouting down a tunnel, words ricocheting into the darkness, embedding themselves in her thoughts. She had zoned out after that, letting Van Pelt tell her about how she loved the restaurant they went to and which wine she'd recommended them to drink. She couldn't think straight and it took everything she had left to hold back tears. Angry, confused; hurt, she felt the emotions hit her one after another, more following in their path. She was an emotional wreck, but Lisbon had felt like this in the past so she had no trouble holding a convincing charade. Thankfully, Van Pelt left when she did, because if she had stayed Lisbon didn't want to imagine what could have happened.

_Van Pelt stood up uncomfortably, immediately snapping Lisbon out of her vicious daydream._

" _Well, I guess I better see if Cho and Rigsby can get that warrant. I'll tell you if they find anything."_

_Lisbon felt a wave of guilt pass over her again. Why didn't she listen to people more when they weren't talking about work? No wonder they kept things hidden from her, they probably thought she wasn't interested._

" _Grace, did you find the girl? Is she alive?"_

_Halfway through the door Van Pelt turned, a smile still on her face but it was sad._

" _Yeah, we found her. Jane called me a few minutes ago. He told me to tell the police to check the stables where they kept their horses about a mile down the road, and there she was. I don't know what sort of state she's in but she's alive. We're bringing her to Hightower as soon as she's had a check up at the hospital."_

_With that, she nodded her head and closed the door behind her._

Lisbon packed up her things and walked to the lift in a complete daze. She didn't even notice she had reached her car until she saw the key she was trying to put in the lock was actually her house key. Throwing her bag and files into the back seat, she revved the engine and pulled out of the car park, going over the information she had been told:

1\. Marianne Odell owned two horses and didn't seem to be struggling with any money problems.

2\. Kristina Frye had made frequent calls to Marianne Odell's phone within the last 2 months

3\. Jane had taken Kristina on a date

4\. Josephine Odell was alive, so Red John had either let her escape or she hadn't been in the house at the time of the murder

5\. Jane and Kristina made 'the perfect couple'

She slammed her fist against the steering wheel in frustration. She didn't understand why she felt so angry. Hearing that Jane was dating again she should be happy! Maybe he was finally accepting that his wife wasn't coming back and he needed to move on, to share his love with somebody else.

_Why isn't it you?_

The little voice in her head had changed its tune and Lisbon's grip tightened around the steering wheel.

_Why didn't he ask you on a date?_

'I don't want to go on a date with him. He can date whoever he likes. I don't care.'

_Liar._

She swore under her breath and switched on the radio, turning the dials until she found a station which wasn't full of white noise. A song had just finished and the bouncy presenter was getting his listeners ready for the next one.

"Now this next song is truly beautiful, it's just been released here in the US and well, you'll see for yourselves that-"

Lisbon was tapping her fingers on the wheel impatiently and she was glad when the another more laid back presenter cut in with what she was thinking.

"Just play the song, Joe! Here we go listeners, Fragile."

A soothing piano melody filled the speakers, slow and simple, and then the voice began to sing:

  
_'Six thoughts at once I can't focus on one  
_ _Seven days a week but my life has just begun…'_   


A red light stopped her at a T-junction and she turned the volume up so loud she felt the glass in the windows vibrating.

The road left would take her home to a small cabinet of alcohol and a bed she could cry in, but to the right the road took her where she could drive for a hours and hours, singing along to the radio and some of the CD's she had in her glove compartment. She thought for a moment, watching as the red light turned green. She wound the window, flicked the indicator and, with a small smile, she turned right.

  
_'_ _I won't be afraid for the tears I cry_  
I won't run, I won't hide, this how I feel inside  
A little fragile...'  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is 'Fraglie' by Delta Goodrem


	5. Red Rosen Fears

The blankets wrapped around her smelled like strong cigar smoke and freshly cut grass. The smell made her feel sick, but she breathed in the mixed aroma until she could practically taste them at the back of her throat. Her eyes were tightly closed but she could still see the red and blue lights flashing through her eye lids. She covered the blankets over her head in a pathetic attempt to block them out, but it made no difference. The colours continued to flash through the thin fabric.

A voice muttered something outside the car she was in and her eyes snapped open, alert and ready. Another voice answered the first and she realised there was more than two people outside of the car.

"Where shall we take her now?" The first voice was deep and spoke in a monotonous tone. She guessed it was a man who was either very bored or never showed any emotion when he spoke.

"We've been told to take her to Headquarters. Hightower is going to handle it from there." This second voice, also a man, stumbled on his words, so he was either nervous or the temperature outside was causing him to shiver.

"She's pretty shaken up; the hospital said she was okay to go as long as we don't try and force any answers out of her. Shall I drive?" This was a woman's voice and, without knowing why, Josephine found her whole body suddenly breathe a sigh of relief. She didn't even know what this woman looked like, let alone who she was, but the tone of her voice made her feel relaxed. It was enough for her to close her eyes again.

"Hey, just because I'm tired and cold doesn't mean I can't drive!"

So the second voice  _was_  cold. She smiled slightly, pleased to know she had got something right, but then she remembered what they were talking about and why she was here. Her smile vanished quickly after that.

"Okay Rigsby," the woman said, "hold out one of your hands. Keep it flat. I'm going to put the car keys on your palm. They have to stay there for five seconds. They stay there, you drive. You drop them, I drive."

"Grace, no way, I forgot my gloves! This isn't fa-" but the rest of his words were drowned out by the sound of shaking keys.

"Come on Wayne. Can it really be that hard? After all the undercover missions and fights you've done is holding a ring of keys so difficult?" The woman, Van Pelt, set her challenge to the amn, Rigsby, with a flirtatious edge. She guessed they must do this sort of thing a lot.

"Fine,  _Grace_ ," he emphasised her name like it belonged inside quote marks. "I'll do just that. In fact, you know what; I'll pay for your lunch if I drop them."

"You got yourself a deal. Cho, the keys?"

There was a jingling sound, Cho answering Van Pelt's question, and then complete silence except for the rustling of the trees and cars pulling out of the parking lot. If she had woken up right now she would never have guessed there were three people standing just outside the ca,r but now she imagined them, watching and waiting to see if Rigsby could win his bet. For a moment, she thought he had.

A small tinkle broke the silence and the air was filled with a warm laugh, followed by a low groan. Rigsby had dropped the keys which meant Van Pelt would be driving them to their next destination, wherever that was. She remembered the name 'Hightower' being mentioned, but all she could picture was a very high tower in the middle of nowhere. Maybe they were taking her to stay there seeing as she couldn't go home.

"What! Oh, come on Cho that was so much longer than five seconds!"

"No it wasn't. Time just goes slower when you're cold."

"But Cho-"

"Get in the car."

She could hear the crunch of gravel as they stepped onto the road, and she curled into the smallest ball she could, hoping to look as if she'd been asleep the whole time. The door to her right opened and a rush of cold air swept across her face, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, but then it slammed shut almost as quickly as it had opened.

Two more doors opened and closed, not as loud as the first, but they both welcomed in icy cold air and a familiar of rain. It wasn't raining now. She tried to wrap the blanket tighter around her legs but froze when she felt three pairs of eyes gazing at her.

"Could you shut the door any louder?" a female voice whispered sarcastically from the driver's seat, "You could have woken her up!"

"He's sulking because he lost. Just drive and don't talk so loud. She won't wake up." The bored voice (Cho?) always seemed to be one who didn't speak very much but, when he did, everybody listened.

By process of elimination, Rigsby must be the one sitting beside her. She turned her head a fraction of an inch to the right and squinted through one eye. Sure enough, a man sat straight in an awkward posture and she could feel his leg quivering from the cold against her feet. He had a friendly face, but it was set in a deep scowl as he gazed out of the window.

"I am not upset. I'm just hungry," he whispered in a harsh tone.

Risking a quick look at the driver and passenger, she saw them exchange a knowing glance. This must be a regular excuse.

"You can get something when we get back to the office." Van Pelt turned the key and the engine roared to life. The heater began blasting hot air into the car, and she felt the leg next to her gradually begin to stop shaking.

"Oh Wayne, I hope you haven't forgotten," the car had stopped at a red light and the driver turned her head a fraction, just so Rigsby was in her line of vision.

"You owe me my lunch. The cafe just outside the office does a mean Greek tortilla wrap, right Cho?"

"I'm not getting involved in this."

The light turned green and Van Pelt continued along the road as an awkward pause filled the car.

"But I gotta admit, they  _do_ make a mean tortilla wrap."

How he could keep the same tone of voice and a straight face, she didn't know. Van Pelt filled in what he didn't and chuckled quietly in her seat. Rigsby scowled even more, but she noticed how his face seemed to colour more as he watched Van Pelt laugh, entranced.

"How about we stop by on the way to the office?" The question was directed at both of them, but she looked in the rear view at her back seat passenger. "Wayne's buying mine, so I can get yours if you like Cho? The woman there knows I'm a regular. I'm sure I could get a discount on your oven baked deli."

"I'll make Rigsby pay. He owes me money anyway from the last sandwich I got him."

"Ah come on Cho! They had limited addition Bayonne ham, shipped over from France! France, Cho! Do you even know what that taste's like, I mean it-"

As the man who loved food launched into a whispered detailed description, she saw Cho and Van Pelt exchange another look, this time with a small smile on their faces. 

Witnessing the look of affection in the woman's eyes as she glanced at Rigsby in the rear view mirror and seeing a small smirk on the stern man's face as he turned back to face the window, she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time. Surrounded by these three strangers, she felt safe.

* * *

_The  flip flops she was wearing were hard to run in, but they didn't stop her pounding down the marble staircase, faster than she had ever run before, jumping three at a time. Everything was a blur as it flew past, forgotten already. She needed to get out of here. If he caught her she knew the consequences would be painful._

" _Jo, where are you. Get your scummy ass right here now!"_

_She stopped, gasping for breath at the foot of the porch door. Could she really do this? Sure, she had thought about it for nearly two years, but was now the right time? She had to think about her mother as well._

" _JOSEPHINE ODELL, YOU COME HERE RIGHT NOW."_

_The voice was closer now and his words made the blood thrum faster through her veins, sending a shot of adrenaline around her body. Her heart quickened and a cold sweat was beginning to break out on her back. He was drunk. It was now or never. If she didn't run out of this door now, she never would._

_She twisted the cold metal handle and watched the heavy, oak front door swing open, thinking about the amount of times she had opened it to go to school, or to pick up groceries for her Mum. Now, she opened it to a new life. Freedom awaited her with no more pain or arguments, no more tears or fear. Stepping onto the door mat, she hesitated. Her whole body screamed at her to run, to get out of the house as fast as she could before he came for her, but she couldn't fight the urge to look back into the house one last time._

" _There you are. Trying to escape were we? I don't THINK SO."_

" _No!" She screamed, and the sound of it echoed around the room. He dragged back into the foyer and she tore d_ _esperately_   _at his arms. She writhed around, kicking out at thin air, struggling with everything she had left in her, but she slipped on the heavily polished floor and he grabbed her, tightly._

_She continued to scream._

" _Mum! MUM, PLEASE! PLEASE HELP!"_

" _She can't hear you. I have her now, she's all mine! Why would she need you?"_

" _Please.." His other arm had her in a head lock and she was finding it hard to breath, each breathe she took becoming shorter and shorter._

" _Please. Just let me go."_

_The room swam, everything merging into one coloured blur. She felt his breath in her ear as tears trickled down her cheeks, knowing what was coming next._

" _I'd rather have you, Jo. You know that don't you?" A throaty laugh rumbled from his overgrown belly and she smelt the alcohol on his breath. She was shaking now, shaking so badly she thought she might explode, but she didn't care. Anywhere was better than here, with him. Anywhere was better than home._

_The shaking was uncontrollable. She tried to scream, but her mouth wouldn't open and she felt herself collapse onto the floor._

_He had dropped her. This was it._

_She thought she was going to be sick and she felt the bile sliding its way up into her mouth. A shadow came into view, just visible in her line of vision. She tried to drag herself across the floor away from it, but she was too weak._

" _Jo?"_

_A woman's voice. Maybe it was her mother's, come to rescue her, to make up for all the countless times she let her down._

" _Mum, I'm over here!" But her words just came out in one long groan, it was hopeless. Her head lolled to one side and she curled up into a ball, waiting for the pain to hit her like it always did. The routine she was all to used to by now._

" _Jo, you have to get up now."_

_Her mum was here, finally. She'd come down the stairs and was finally going to put a stop to everything, but before she could cry out to her, a sharp pain shot through her arms and her eyes flashed open._

"Sorry Josephine, I didn't know how else to wake you up. Bad dream? I've come to take you inside. Are you okay to move?"

She blinked a couple of times, letting her eyes adjust to the light and colours of the surrounding area. Sitting up proved to be more difficult - she had cramp in her neck and it took her a couple of seconds before she could say anything, but the woman waited patiently until she was ready to speak.

The woman was leaning into the car wearing a slate grey suit. Her dark hair was scraped back off her face into a small bun at the back of her head, dressed to look strict yet approachable but, to Josephine, she looked friendly. 

"Who are you and where am I?"

Over the woman's shoulder, she could make out a large red-bricked building with steps leading off upward, presumably into the offices of whoever owned it.

"You're at the CBI Headquarters. We'd just like to ask you a few questions and then we'll take you to a safe place to stay." She stepped away from the car door and motioned for her to follow.

"Don't worry; we're here to look after you."

Instead of following the woman, Josephine sat up straight and stretched, feeling even more awakened when she put her hands back down. Where were the people who had driven her here? What were their names…Van Pelt, Rigsby and Cho? She would have felt much safer waking up to them instead of a woman she didn't know anything about. If she learned anything over the past few years is was that you should never judge anyone by a first impression.

"Hey," she called out to the woman who suddenly stopped walking and turned round. A look of surprise flickered in her eyes when she saw that Josephine wasn't following her, but it vanished immediately.

"How do I know that I can trust you? I don't even know who you are." Her voice sounded childish and she was embarrassed for having asked such a stupid question, but she didn't feel safe right now. She wanted to know that she could trust this woman.

"I'm sorry Josephine, I should have introduced myself. My name is Madeline Hightower; I'm the chief of CBI," she held out a hand, "I sent my agents to pick you up and they're inside now if you want to see them? Van Pelt told me you slept the whole way here, so I hope you feel a lot more refreshed now."

Putting her own shaking hand inside Hightower's, she shook it and slowly pulled herself out of the car. Hightower shut and locked the car, finally turning to face her.

"Shall we go inside? You won't be in there too long, I promise."

She smiled at her and Josephine felt a rush of gratitude. Hightower hadn't treated her like a child, yet she had spoken to her in a way that wasn't spoken to adults. She understood that she was frightened, wary of who to trust and hadn't forced her to get out of the car. She liked her and that was enough right now.

She passed men and women in suits, nearly all of them carrying various files or speaking rapidly into a phone. She got the impression that people here worked fast and did their job properly. Some of them muttered greetings to Hightower, but not one of them gave her a second glance, each of them too busy with their own case.

"I think we'll take the stairs so you can get your legs working again. You've been sat in that car a while."

She headed towards door and held it open for Josephine to walk through.

"Thank you," she muttered.

"You're welcome. Do you feel okay? You don't feel sick or anything because I can get someone to take a look at you."

She had grown tired of the people asking her questions like this at the hospital, but she liked Hightower so she politely replied, "No I feel fine, thank you, but I'm a little thirsty."

As they were climbing the stairs, she realised how hungry she was and, on cue, her stomach rumbled and she clutched at it in embarrassment. Hightower laughed and pushed open the door they had just reached.

"I know just the person to get you something to eat and we have some drink here. I'll get Van Pelt to make you something. Is water okay"

She nodded and they walked along a corridor before coming to a long glass panel with two walkways. It resembled a room but was more of a large walk in office, and Hightower backed up this thought by walking straight through the nearest gap over to a battered looking sofa.

"You sit here while I ask Van Pelt to get you your coffee. Rigsby will be in when I find him and you just tell him what sort of sandwich you like. If you need anything," she pointed in a direction down the corridor, "you can just come to my office and ask." And with one last smile, she turned and walked back around the corner again. Left to her own devices, Josephine sat back on the couch and took in everything around her.

The room itself was longer length ways than width ways and it was mainly a maze of desks. At the very top of the room there was a whiteboard, a television and an oval shaped table. Common sense told her that meetings and general discussions were spoken about round that table, probably with Hightower to tell her how they were doing on their recent case.

Where she was sitting, at the bottom of the room, was a table filled with a junk. Pencils and pens were in the pot provided, but more of them were scattered around the desk amongst scribbled on bits of paper. Someone worked here only when they had to, probably someone who liked to keep an eye on the rest of the team. Hightower maybe? No, her job was telling the team what to do, giving them advice when they needed it and getting them out of difficult situations. So who sat at this desk then? It reminded her of her own desk at home, messy but well used.

"Hey, are you Josephine?"

A man she recognised was standing in front of her, awkwardly with his hands in his pockets and a small smile on his face. So this was Agent Rigsby, the man who had lost the bet and loved his food. His face was friendly, like Hightower's, but he resembled more of an older-brother sort of person, definitely not as strict as Hightower. He seemed like the sort who tried to crack the jokes to the team, yet usually ended up either being laughed at.

"Yep, that's me."

"I've been told you're hungry and I know the best food places around here so, what do you fancy?"

He leaned against the door frame and she couldn't help but smile slightly. She settled into the comfy leather and breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Anything really, please. Just a sandwich will do-"

"Oh that's an easy one! There's a really nice place across the road and round the corner there is a really nice one too. Wait! If I take my car I'm sure I can get to Jeff's shop in time or maybe-"

He stopped when he realised he was rambling, or maybe he'd noticed the look of slight confused terror she had on her face.

"Sorry, I just like to get the best for the best." He mimed a little bow and she laughed out loud. She stopped abruptly, not because she didn't want him to think she was laughing at him, but because she was surprised that she could laugh after everything that had happened.

"I'll um…have a cheese and ham sandwich please, you can pick the type of bread." She tried to give him her best smile, pleased that she had finally met two nice people after such a horrid week. She looked back up to the front of the office, turning her head so only her cheek faced Rigsby, pondering where everybody else was. Van Pelt was getting her a coffee and Hightower was in her office, but surely there were more people who worked here?

She turned back to face Rigsby, ready to ask him this very question only to find him gazing at her. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open slightly. He wasn't leaning on the door frame anymore; instead he stood upright with his arms by his sides. But he wasn't gazing at her in awe, not the way she'd had other people stare at her before, it was in shock. Eye brows raised, face suddenly pale and frozen to the spot, he looked like he'd just been slapped.

"Err…" She didn't know what to say because she had no idea what she had done to make him look like at her like this.

"Wayne, don't just stand there, you're blocking the door!"

A woman with bright red hair had appeared out of no where, making them both jump. She was carrying a glass of water. Josephine recognised her as the woman who had driven them all back here, Van Pelt. She was also owed a sandwich.

Rigsby, the reason for his shock now forgotten, smiled at her and Josephine thought she saw something spark between them, but then they remembered where they were and reluctantly glanced away from each other.

"Here's your water." As she walked in, Rigsby brushed past her and headed back towards the lifts to get the sandwiches.

A tiny sip of cold water was all she needed to kick started her senses. As the silence slowly became more awkward, she snuck a glance at Van Pelt while pretending to take a sip of coffee.

She was very pretty but in a boyish sort of way – purple shirt tucked into her trousers and a black jacket on top. She had a pretty face which needed no makeup and, even though her hair was tied up in a tight ponytail, she could picture her turning heads with her hair down. 

"Lisbon's the person who will interview you, so you got nothing to worry about."

Lisbon? She didn't regonize that name, but she wasn't worried about what questions she would be asked. What frightened her was having to remember the answers to the questions.

"How long will I be in there for?"

"Oh, not too long." She thought Josephine hadn't noticed, but when she turned her head she saw Van Pelt quickly looking away. She too had been looking at her face in the same way Rigsby had. What the hell was on her face? She rubbed her cheeks casually, trying to look as if she had an itch, but felt nothing that seemed out of place or uncomfortable.

"You'll only be in there half and hour tops, I think Lisbon only wants the basics at this point anyway."

"Do you know where I'm staying now? I can't-..I don't want to go back…" She couldn't finish the sentence without feeling tears in her eyes. She hadn't really been able to call it home anymore but, then again, she hadn't called it that in almost 3 years.

Van Pelt gave her a sympathetic smile and rubbed one of her shoulders soothingly.

"At the moment we can't seem to get hold of your mum's mother, but I think Hightower is arranging something with Lisbon. Don't worry, you're safe with us. We'll look after you."

A warm friendly smile broke out on her face and Josephine couldn't help smiling back. She felt like she could trust her, but she was still curious as to why Van Pelt and Rigsby had stared at her.

"Ma'am?" A man appeared at the door and Josephine saw that he must be the warden. He wore a mustard colour uniform; walkie talkie secured on his shoulder and, she shuddered when she saw it, a gun sitting defensively in the holster on his belt.

"Could you take the girl down, please. Lisbon says she's nearly ready."

"Okay, we'll be right there." She stood up and turned to face the sofa. "You ready to go, I can wait for you to finish your water-"

"No it's fine." She placed the almost full glass of water on the desk and followed Van Pelt down the hall, head held high, feeling more confident than she had felt in a long time.

* * *

Down the hallway, Lisbon was having trouble hiding her emotions.

She couldn't look her Boss in the eye; her hands, which were squeezed together tightly between her legs, were shaking uncontrollably and she was worried that the sound of her thudding heart would suddenly become so loud it would echo around the room. Having had only three hours sleep, she had been called to have an early meeting with Hightower. Two hours later, they were still discussing the same topic and Hightower was growing impatient.

Lisbon had waited politely until Hightower had finished explaining her idea from top to bottom before she began trying to argue against it, but her Boss was having none of it.

"Think about the girl, Lisbon. Her mother is dead and the step-father…well, you can just look at her first before I answer that."

"What about other family relatives? Grandparents, aunties, uncles; isn't there anyone else who could take her?

"Her mother and father both had no siblings and we've been unable to reach her grandma. We're still trying but, in the mean time, she needs somewhere to stay. Red John may still try and come after her."

Lisbon pressed her hands together and looked Hightower straight in the eye.

"Ma'am, I love my job and you know I would do nearly anything for it, but this is quite difficult for me to take on."

Hightower looked at the woman in front of her for a long time, and Lisbon felt a pang of guilt slowly creeping up her back. She wasn't going to get out of this easily.

"Agent Lisbon, someone once said, 'Fear makes strangers of people who would be friends.' I think you could really get along with this girl, she seems grown up enough to make her own decisions. She reminds me of you in some ways."

These last few words caught her off guard. It must have showed in her face because Hightower sat up in her chair with a sly smile.

"It won't be for very long, one maybe two weeks tops, and it'll give you a chance to get to know not only her, but yourself."

They stared at each other for a long time, unspoken words passing between them in one long gaze. Lisbon hadn't spoken about her past to anybody. They all had secrets; every now and again a case would make one of them act like Jane in a Red John case, but Lisbon kept herself to herself. No case could crack her in front of the team and no question anyone asked about her past would she answer, but Hightower wasn't stupid. She didn't know anything about Lisbon apart from what she had read in her file, which wasn't very much, and yet she seemed to have read Lisbon's profile like a book.

It took just a raised eyebrow from Hightower to break the gaze.

"I'll have an officer bring some of her things to your house. She may be seventeen, but she's very much a child, Lisbon. What she needs right now is food, a warm bed, and somebody she can talk to."

"Was she even at the scene of the crime? Is she well enough for me to interrogate her?"

Hightower gave an exasperated sigh, "I have already spoken to her and she seems calm and well enough. I've already contacted a grief counciller for her. It appears the shock hasn't quite hit her yet. As for if she was at the scene of the crime, I believe that is for you to find out Agent Lisbon."

She stood up and crossed her arms behind her back, signalling that this was the end of the conversation. Lisbon had no choice but to accept that a seventeen year old girl was coming to stay in her home for maybe two weeks. Hightower wouldn't hear a negative word about it; her mind was made up.

"Josephine is waiting for you down the corridor. She's been through a lot these past few days, and even though she may look tough on the outside, it may just be a mask to what's hiding on the inside."

"What shall I do with her after?"

"I think the team can manage without you for the rest of the day, I'll see to that. Take her back to yours and get her settled in. Tomorrow I want you to evaluate everything she had to say. I'll see you in the morning. Maybe you can try and help coax Jane back to work? I haven't seen him since yesterday and that worries me."

Lisbon gave a brief nod and turned round slowly, trying to conceal any trace of nerves and excitement from appearing on her face as she hurried towards her office.

If Lisbon had turned around or run haphazardly back into her boss' office, she would have seen Hightower shaking her head with a small smirk on her face as she sat back down in her chair to continue the many phone calls she had left to make.


	6. As Precious As Rubies

Midday on a cold October afternoon, Patrick Jane lay down on his uncomfortable mattress, muscles aching in exhaustion, and closed his eyes. It was nearly four days since he'd last been back to CBI Headquarters and he was ignoring all of Cho and Van Pelt's calls. He didn't feel guilty. If they had wanted to find him they could do so in mere minutes, but they knew he would come back eventually.

For the past three days he had been in the library, surrounded by books and glued to a computer screen researching. The letters written in blood on Marianne's wall were similar to another Red John case they had investigated. Jane had managed to get a wrongly accused man out of jail because he had information about Red John from some 'friends', but when the man managed to escape he was killed (along with the hooker he ordered) and his body was left in the motel bath, above which were the words "HE IS MAN" written in his own blood.

Jane looked across at the notebook he'd throw on the floor before falling onto the mattress and felt his insides burn. He'd finally worked it out, after spending nearly 24 hours in the library – 8 hours a day, he was one step closer to an answer...and it wasn't good.

Three days ago he opened one of the drawers in the kitchen, something he hadn't done since the police searched his house, pulled out a fresh notepad and pencil and wrote at the top "REVEALS IN TROY" and "HE IS MAN", words which meant nothing to Jane as they were. So he tried every code he could involving numbers; converting each letter into a number then reversing it, converting each letter into a number and adding them up, he even tried reversing them. He went as far as going up into the attic, digging out an old atlas and, using both letters and numbers, compared them to the coordinates on all 210 pages but it was to no avail.

Thinking back, he could not understand how he had missed it, the simplest code of all. Red John wanted Jane to crack it; toy with him, yes, but never enough to make his head ache. Being blinded with rage, and convinced that it must be ridiculously complicated, he went to the library in search of some answers.

Walking through the glass doors into the air conditioned silence was pure bliss. It allowed him to get away from the hassle and constant noise of the office, yet he wasn't alone in this building like he was at home and he finally had something to do.

The librarian at the desk looked at him through slanted eyes and she pursed her lips, clicking a little too frantically with her mouse. An obvious charade. He gave her one of his crooked smiles and gestured over to one of the computers, taking care not to say anything; he hadn't missed the very large "SILENCE" sign as he'd walked in. The frown lines around her eyes disappeared and she gestured with a small smile to the nearest computer and gave him a number on a piece of card. He took it and tried to give her one of his signature grins which proved difficult giving the troubled mood he was in.

It was at this same computer that he remained, 9am-5pm, for three days. He took any books related to Troy and piled them up next to him, taking care to put them back where they came from when he'd finished. He researched everything about the factual and legendary city, reading up on the Greek myth of the Trojan Warn. The Greeks managed to enter Troy disguised inside a wooden horse and that night the Greek force crept out of the Horse and opened the gates for the rest of the Greek army, which had sailed back under cover of night. The Greek army entered and destroyed the city of Troy, decisively ending the war.

On his third and final day he worked it out. He left the library and drove home, numb. He had read every historical article, every magazine column, and each and every book in the pile next to him, but nothing had jumped out at him as the answer. The answer had sent a chill down his spine and he left the library in a daze.

Now, he was sitting on his mattress, fingertips raised to the spot in between his eyebrows, eyes closed as if in prayer. He felt liked he needed to do just that right now, ask for some help or a miracle maybe. What he needed right now was another pair of eyes, a different point of view.

A memory from his past struck him out of nowhere and suddenly he was 9 year old Patrick, sitting alongside some of the other children who travelled with the fair, all of whom were gathered in a small circle listening to Madame Tsura finishing her story.

"… _and that my little gems," Madame Tsura sat up, the bangles on her arms jingling like the wind chimes hanging outside her tent, "is why you should never keep your worries to yourself. If Isabella had told her mother why she was so upset, her mother might have been able to help her."_

Madame Tsura had been the fair's fortune teller and palm reader and she could never go unnoticed. She wasn't the skinniest of woman, but with her gypsy multicoloured dress sense and beautiful beaded hair, people always had to look twice whenever they saw her. She had been a little over 40 when she had taught Jane, but she looked after herself and was always mixing up unusual brews behind the tent which some of the boys in his class had once said was an 'anti aging potion'.

Her tent was the most colourful in the whole field, red and purple fabric mixed with pink and gold silk covered the sides and the top was a tie-dyed green and blue. At the very tip of the top there was an enormous crystal ball which sparkled in all directions whenever the light struck it. Patrick thought that you could see it from the moon it was that colourful, but when he told his friend Jess this she merely stuck out her bottom lip and said he was "a stupid bubble butt" for thinking such things. He decided that she wasn't his friend anymore after that.

Everytime he and the rest of the children ran into the tent for 'Magic Education', they would always stop to breathe in deeply the wonderful aroma which spiralled from the incense Madame Tsura had dotted around her tent. The squishy purple and blue cushions were always ready for them when they arrived, neatly placed in a perfect circle, and not once had they never been there before them. Jane remembered his theory on this was that Madame Tsura always saw them racing to the tent in her crystal ball, so she always knew when to put down their pillows before they arrived. This time, he decided to keep his theory to himself.

"' _sura" the youngest of the class, Lilly, who still had trouble pronouncing Madame Tsura's name but was now waving her little hand in the air, almost hitting Patrick in the face, "what if you is scared 'bout saying you worry 'cause I don't know how they might say back?"_

_Madame Tsura smiled kindly at Lilly's mixed up of words. "That is a good question Lilly, dear." She smoothed down her heavily layered skirt and Patrick could tell she was thinking of a way to answer the little girls' query without questioning or confusing her._

" _If you are scared, my petal, you must tell somebody you can trust, Mummy or Daddy maybe? They will listen to you and maybe help you with your worry."_

_Lilly kept her head down for a moment, staring at her dirty feet and fiddling with a hole in her trousers before finally raising her head and meeting Madame Tsura's gaze._

" _But..what if you scared bout what Mummy and Daddy will say?" Lilly's eyes filled with tears and Patrick felt all the children stiffen in shock, some turned to look at each other, confusion etched all over their faces._

Lilly was one of the girls who didn't care what anyone thought of her. When she first joined the class she was only 4 years old but, unlike most of the children who started at that age, she wasn't shy or nervous. On her first day, she came into the tent and her eyes widened in wonder at the new surroundings, her mouth hanging open. Suddenly, she ran into the middle of the cushions and began spinning round and round in circles, head back looking up into the top of the tent, colours whirling. Eventually she fell onto the floor, dizzy and laughing uncontrollably, and from then on everyone loved her, even Jane. After her first class, Lilly asked them to come back to her parents stall to try and shoot the balloons. On arrival, the children gasped when the recognised Mr and Mrs "Ogre", the two people at the fair who the children feared the most, but they were even more shocked when Lilly ran up to Mr "Ogre" and hugged him calling him 'Daddy'. Nevertheless, they were all allowed to take it in turns trying to burst the balloons. The rifles which the adults used were too heavy for them to hold so Mr "Ogre" gave them pea shooters. Needless to say, but to Lilly's delight, they never won anything. Jane would always go back to his Father's tent in a sulk, looking forward to another attempt the next day.

_Silence filled the room. The circle of children could only watch in horror as tears began rolling down Lilly's cheeks, catching in her mousy blonde hair as they ran off her chin. Madame Tsura stood up and walked over to where Lilly was sitting, jangling with every step, and picked up the little girl so she was cradled in her arms._

" _Lilly, my gem, don't cry! Your Madame 'sura is always here for you whenever you need to talk to someone." She slowly sat back down in the big chair, facing the other children. "And you know it's always best to tell somebody else what's wrong."_

" _I-I-I'm scared…" Lilly's words came out in chocked sobs and some of the other children in the circle were silently crying too and Patrick's own throat felt like sand paper, struggling to stop his own tears falling. He just couldn't understand what had caused such a bubbly, cheerful girl like Lilly, who was never seen without a smile on her face, to have an outburst of such unhappy tears._

" _Shh sweetheart," Madame Tsura rocked the crying girl gently back and forth, rubbing the top of her head as she did so, "everything's going to be all right okay? Shhh.."_

_The children watched in silence as Madame Tsura continued to whisper soothing words into Lilly's hair and her sobs gradually turned into muffled sniffles. She buried her head into Madame Tsura's pearl white tunic, mouth now sucking on her thumb as if it was all she had left._

" _You can come and talk to me whatever time, okay? That goes for all of you." Madame Tsura raised her head up off Lilly's and Patrick was surprised to see that her eyes were glistening with fresh tears too. It scared him. It wasn't right to see someone so strong look so weak._

" _I want you to remember something children. No matter how big or how small your problems are, if you can't talk to your parents, or you're scared of what they might say, please come and speak to me whenever you like. Remember; worry often gives a small thing a big shadow."_

Jane still remembered those words today. Whenever he felt worried about something, he flashed back to the day he saw little Lilly sitting on a wise woman's knee, too scared to talk to anyone because she was trapped in a bubble of pain and fear. Jane wouldn't let himself let get like that and he made sure that the people around him didn't either, although he knew Van Pelt hid something about her family and Cho remained silent about his past…but that was different. They didn't want to talk to anybody about it, not yet. He needed to call someone, he needed help.

He needed Lisbon.

She hadn't called him yet and, even lying down now, this thought still made his stomach sink. It wasn't like her not to call, especially since she hadn't seen him for nearly three days. They hadn't spoken to each other since the time she'd found him in the bedroom at Marianne's house…

No doubt she would have been shocked to find him like that, having never seen him cry before, but was it enough to have frightened her away? He couldn't say he wasn't embarrassed because he'd be lying, but she hadn't run away or pushed him to answer any questions. It wasn't like Lisbon not to call him because of that. There and then, sitting just inches away from him, he had wanted to tell her everything like he had done with Cho. Maybe if he was more honest and open with her she would be the same with him. There were still so many things he didn't know about her. The only thing holding him back was...

Nothing. His mind went blank, white as snow, he couldn't think of an honest reason. He wasn't afraid of how she would react because he knew she would listen to him until he had finished before asking questions; even then she might not ask a single one. He wasn't worried about trying to get her to listen either, the amount of times they had said they were always there for one another had become something of a teenage pact between them; a well know hand shake or an empty promise which was usually broken.

No, he wasn't worried. He was afraid.

He thought of walking up to Lisbon's house and finding the florescent tape across her door, emblazoned with the words ' **Crime Scene, Do Not Cross** '…standing over Lisbon's ridged body until he collapsed in a heap somewhere and wept… Lisbon's blood smeared up the walls into a twisted face... The image was almost unimaginable because it would not happen. Ever.

He could not let it happen.

So he decided on not calling to see how the case was doing, he was used to working alone after all and he knew that if they did find anything new it would be all over the media – television, radio, newspapers, the internet; everywhere! His phone would be ringing consistently and Lisbon would have left at least a dozen voicemails already. Extending an arm behind his head, he groped for his phone, flipped it open and gazed at the screen but there was no little envelope wating in the top corner. She hadn't called.

He flipped it shut and pushed it into his pocket, mind fixed on nothing except why she hadn't called.

What if she thought he was in love with Marianne? He wasn't, but what if Lisbon had gotten the impression he was? This was the first time he had ever cried at a crime scene, and over a woman whom he previously had connections with…she would think it was too much of a coincidence.

By now, Lisbon would know all about Marianne. Family, friends, work; the lot and that included phone records. His number would be on there a few times. He trusted Cho enough to know he wouldn't talk and even if he was put under oath, he would bend the truth in whatever way possible, just like Jane would do for him. The truth would be revealed eventually but Lisbon would know he was hiding something. She would see it in his eyes just like he saw the secrets hidden away in hers, a past just wanting to be forgotten.

His chest vibrated and his eyes snapped open. Reaching back into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the flashing phone and read the name of the caller. His heart seemed to twist in spirals when he saw who it was.

"This is Jane speaking," he tried to keep his tone as casual as possible

"Well, I'd never have guessed." Ah, how he'd missed that sarcastic tone.

"Where are you? You haven't been in the office for nearly four days! Hightower is being to get suspicious and, you know what, so am I. Talk. Now."

He couldn't help smiling at her last words, they were just so…Lisbon. He suddenly realised how much he missed seeing her at her desk and joking around with the rest of the team. A swooping feeling sensation plunged into his stomach as he picture them all working without him. He felt left out.

"Meh…"  _Tell her!_ An angry voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him, high pitched and shrill.  _Just tell her what you've found out, maybe she can help you._ He rubbed his eyes lids roughly trying to block out his raging conscience.

"I'm waiting?" Lisbon gave an exasperated sigh and he imagined her sitting at her desk, straightening up pieces of paper with the phone balanced on one shoulder, eyebrow raised. The shrill voice seemed to fade away as this picture became clearer in his mind.

"I've just been checking up on some things. I'll be back in tomorrow, I promise."

_TELL HER._

"Jane…you sure everything's okay? You know I'm always here for you to talk to, you know that?" There is was. The part of their routine, the line in a movie they could both quote, an option both of them were always offered yet never took.

"Ah Lisbon, are you worried about me?"  _How can you joke about this Patrick Jane? Just tell her. Right now so you can't see the expression on her face. It'll only make it easier._

"Oh please, I just want to make sure you're not causing trouble. I've got enough paperwork as it is at the moment without you adding to it!" Was that a hint of a smile he heard in her voice?

_Say it. She seems in a good mood, you can hear it in her voice can't you? Better to tell her when she's happy than when she's annoyed with you. It'll hurt her a lot less._

'Who says it'll hurt?' he snapped back.

_You know it will…_

'You don't know how she feels about me. She's still upset about Bosco…'

"Jane? Are you still there?" Lisbon's voice seemed to be very far away, worlds away maybe. He shook his head and focused on her anxious tone, annoyed at the fact that he wasn't listening to her because he was arguing with himself.

"I am, just a little tired after a hard day's work."

"Work? Ha! Don't make me laugh" Again, there was the smile in her voice and Jane's ears crackled with joy at the sound of it. "What you do isn't work Mr. If you're not in the office tomorrow, I'll have to come and get you. I mean it."

"Hmm…I'll think about it" He raised his free hand above him and stretched before resting it behind his head in a relaxed pose. "But how do you know where I live, Teresa?"

"I've read your file…so don't even think about saying I'm stalking you."

His grin widened and he raised one eyebrow. "Would I ever say that Lisb-"

"I'll see you in the office tomorrow Jane." The line went dead. The monotonous dial tone filled his ears before he finally shut it closed.

 _Quick! Call her back!_ His inner voice pleaded, desperate for him to tell her what he had found.

'I can't tell her.' He stood and leaned back against the wall, staring across the room at nothing in particular.

_But if you leave it…it'll only hurt her more._

'How do you know it'll hurt her? She doesn't feel the same, even I don't know how I feel…'

_Tell her as a friend then. Take in your damn notes, put them down on her desk and explain it all._

'I can't. I just…can't'

A heavy sensation swept over him, starting in his chest and making its way around until it finally reached his head. He leaned back and rested it against the wall, feeling as if he had a tonne of lead resting on his shoulders. An image of a crying Lilly flashed in his eyes as he closed them, and he realised he felt exactly how she did all those years ago.

He was scared.

Shivers ran up his spine as he thought about telling Van Pelt, Rigsby or Cho because, no doubt, they would want to help him like they had so many times in the past. They were his friends; every time they worked another case together, the closer he felt to them and he loved them all, each in their own individual way. Hightower was the same, he could trust her to keep a secret but she would place him in protective custody and she would give him a serious talk about the rules of going outside, maybe even removing him from his house, the only thing he had left which still held so many memories.

He closed off the voice in his head because it made no difference what it said, the words echoing as if they were spoken in an empty room. He would fight this on his own. He had fought his own battles before and had even come face to face with Red John. Granted, he had been tied to a chair and entering before Lisbon arrived was just asking for trouble, but Red John hadn't killed him, he was still alive and now he knew why.

Jane stood up and walked down the stairs, listening to the familiar creaks on each floorboard as he cross the living room and carefully opened the front door. A torrent of rain met him as he stepped out onto the soggy doormat and he breathed in the cool wet air, feeling his socks dampen as the water seeped through his shoes. He lifted his head up and gazed into the dreary grey sky, listening to the thunder rumble far away. It was as if Mother Nature knew how he felt; cold, anger and sadness all bundled into one and she was using the weather to show him she understood. He'd never fully appreciated how beautiful the world was until this moment.

Arms stretched out in front of him and droplets catching on his eyelashes, he saw a flash of lightening, counting in his head until he heard the echoing rumble of thunder.

He didn't notice he was crying until he tasted a change in the water running down his face, he could feel their hot tracks down on his cheeks and taste the salt as his opened his mouth up to the sky. Why he was crying, he couldn't say. He had known the day would come in his life, everybody had to do it eventually, but he hadn't wanted it so soon. There we so many things he hadn't managed to do yet and he hadn't even begun to say any of the things he'd planned too.

Jane jogged back over to the doorway and sat in the porch shivering, tears still mirroring the droplets of the rain dripping off his hair. How could he tell them in the easiest possible way? Maybe he could tell Cho, just Cho, and they would find a way out of this together. Or he could tell Lisbon, show her all the evidence he had found as proof and then maybe she would accept it a whole lot easier instead of trying to turn it into a joke. No, he should tell them all, sit them around the table and lay it down for them, point by point.

A thunder clap slashed through the sky and seconds later it was followed by an ominous rumble which sent a chill up Jane's already soaked skin. It sounded as if the heavens were angry with him for keeping the secrets to himself, for not letting anybody help him. It was probably Madame Tsura, God rest her soul, trying to communicate to him, if he believed in that sort of thing. He could imagine her shaking a heavily ringed fist at him saying,  _"Didn't you listen to me Patrick? 'Worry often gives a small thing a big shadow'. Why won't you let anyone help you?"_

How could he tell them, how could he possibly explain to them that in just a few days or weeks, he was going to die.


	7. A Fire's Burning

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire in thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?

* * *

From the age of fifteen, Teresa Lisbon always wanted to be a police investigator. Before there were cop shows like  _CSI,_  before there was the technology and the weapons that were used so frequently today. No matter what anyone said, her mind was set. But it hadn't always been her first choice. If you'd asked her the same question when she was eight or nine no doubt the answer would have been a writer or a runner. In just a few years, all those dreams changed. If her Mother hadn't been in the accident, maybe her life would have taken a different path. She could training to be a professional runner or sat in a cosy room writing books; following the dreams she'd originally grown up having. When it came to waving them off at the end of each school day, she couldn't help the stab of jealousy, knowing they all could go home to their normal lives, normal routines, normal families…

One look at Josephine Odell brought all these memories back to her in one long film roll. The eyes which had seen too much, hands constantly fidgeting in fear and her face…Everything in the dark viewing room seemed to rotate, quickening the more Lisbon looked at the girl, taking in every inch of her.

Sitting at the table on the other side of the glass was the girl who had been in all the pictures back at the house, but they could have been two completely different people. Now, Lisbon saw that the pictures up the staircase had just been little charades, masks to cover up the life they were really leading.

"You gonna go in there?"

The voice startled Lisbon. She'd forgotten she was not alone in the darkness of the room, having asked Rigsby to watch her as she questioned Josephine.

"I'll try and keep it short."

"Her face..." he hesitated before continuing. "Did the step-father do that?"

She didnt reply. He already knew the answer without her confirmation. She made to leave the room but, remembering what Hightower had asked her, she held the door open so she could shout over her shoulder.

"Would you mind trying to contact Jane? Hightower's getting suspicious as to what he's up to."

Rigsby's phone was already in his hand and speed-dialling to Jane's number before she had finished. She liked it when her team were keen.

"You got it Boss."

"Make sure you tell him that I'm getting suspicious as well."

She closed the door and walked into the room next door, file tucked under her arm and an attempt at a friendly smile on her face.

"Hey Josephine, I'm Teresa Lisbon. I'm only going to ask you a few questions because I don't want to keep you here for too long and I know you must be tired."

The girl gave a small smile and Lisbon couldn't help feeling a sense of relief rush through her. Jane was much better at communicating with the younger adults than she was. Having only two nieces, both under 10, Lisbon had never really grasped talking to teenagers who hadn't take part in a serious offence or weren't witnesses to any crimes. This girl had, in truth, done nothing. She couldn't remember anything and it seemed that the impact of what had happened hadn't fully hit her yet. Hightower had explained that Josephine hadn't shed a single tear and Lisbon knew, especially in her position, what it felt like. The truth hadn't sunk in yet, but when it did…

"Now," she sat down at the table and opened the file in front of her, pen in hand. Her thoughts strayed to Jane and what he would do, but she was brought back to earth with a bump when the girl lifted up her head and her hair fell away from her face. She was careful not to stare because she didn't want to offend the girl, but she knew something must have shown in her eyes because the girl nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and bit her lip, worried. It seemed that the others hadn't done as good a job as Lisbon at hiding their surprise.

Dark bags hung under her tired, bloodshot, eyes, hidden by dirty blonde hair which looked as if it hadn't been brushed in weeks. She was wearing a long sleeved pink top - the sleeves of which were stretched tightly over her clenched fists - a muddy gillett jacket, and battered jeans. From the neck up, her skin was bruised and scarred with deep red cuts. It was like looking at the result of someone who had just survived a horror movie.

As she twirled a piece of hair in her fingers, Lisbon could see that her nails were bitten un-naturally low and one of them was bleeding, but it was seeing the girl shaking that had the biggest impact on Lisbon. She wasn't shaking from the cold or anger. She was scared. Even surrounded by police officers who were here to protect her she was still scared, and it was seeing this that helped the words come to her.

"Josephine, I don't want you to be scared. We're here to try and help you as much as we can."

The girl continued to twist her hair in her fingers, but she gave a slow nod.

"I want you tell me everything and anything you remember from yesterday, anything at all. Start with when you woke up in the morning. Whatever it is, it may not seem important to you but it might to us."

She watched as the girl lowered her hands and clasped them tightly together in her lap. She looked into Lisbon's eyes and gave her a small smile.

"Okay, but I really don't remember that much."

"Don't worry, just tell me everything you can." She returned a reassuring smile and put down her pen, not wanting to seem to intimidating. 

"I woke up yesterday morning and did what I usually do. Shower, put on my clothes, have breakfast and then finish any homework I didn't do the night before. Then I said goodbye to my Mom and walked down the lane to wait for the bus."

Lisbon imagined Josephine walking silently down the path to her house, alone, head down and gaze unfocused. She didn't want to interrupt, but she knew Hightower would be annoyed at her for not following procedure.

"Was your Father around at the time? Did you see him at all?"

Every muscle in Josephine's body tensed and she shook more than ever, eyes flashing as she gazed at Lisbon and said, "He's _not_ my father."

The words placed themselves on the table and seemed to shriek at Lisbon. They echoed around the room, trying to escape from the four walls surrounding them.

"He's my step-father." She cleared her throat and the girl looked back down in her lap.

"Anyway, as I was walking up the lane, I looked over at the stables where we keep our horses, and I saw smoke coming out of the roof of the barn. I  ran over, and as I got nearer I noticed the fire."

It was silent for a moment as she fiddled with a hole in her patched up jeans. Lisbon could only watch as Josephine raised her head slowly, and she was surprised to find there were tears in her eyes.

"The horses are some of the only friends I have. I couldn't just leave them there to die! I had…I had to try…"

Lisbon understood.

"It wasn't your fault…"

"It was!" She slammed her fist on the table and Lisbon's pen rolled off the desk, but she made no attempt to pick it up.

"I'm sorry," Lisbon said, "I didn't mean to-"

"No, I'm sorry," the girl sighed, and she seemed to crumple.

"It just hasn't settled in yet, you know, everything that's happened. I feel like everything is my fault. I hadn't gone over to the barn, I wouldn't have got hit on the head and then…maybe I could have stopped them getting to my Mum and-" she closed her eyes tightly and bit down on her lip so hard, Lisbon was worried she might draw blood.

"Maybe I could remember more…"

She wondered if the josephine would mind staying at her house, or if she would be scared and once again reveal the brewing anger she kept just beneath the surface. Either way, Lisbon felt she could take it. She knew what it was like to be abused. It was part of her past she wanted to leave behind forever, and she didn't want to go into it here and now in front of the people she worked with. Regardless of her pride, this girl needed to go home at some point and bombarding her with questions she couldn't answer in a small room probably wasn't doing much to her temper.

"Okay," Lisbon kept her voice soft as she bend down to pick up her pen, "if that's all you can remember then we'll take you somewhere you can get some rest. I just have one more question for you, okay?"

Josephine nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed upon her shaking hands.

"If your step-father could go anywhere, to hide or stay, where do you think he would go? Do you have any relatives close by or does he have any friends at his work?"

"He has a lot of friends." The words were said in a monotonous voice, yet there was a hint of a sneer in what she said. 

"If you can, I'd like you to write down the names of those people, but the doctors at the hospital told me you suffered a mild concussion so you're memory might be a little hazy for a couple of days."

She placed a pen and paper in the centre of the table and closed the file in front of her, sitting up straight in her chair preparing to leave. She looked directly into Josephine's eyes and saw a million different questions screaming out at her.

' _What if I can't remember?'_

' _What if the thing I need to remember is something I can't…'_

' _Why can't you help me remember?'_

' _I'm scared…can't you help me?'_

"I know, but thank you." She gave Lisbon a shy smile and pulled her sleeves over her hands.

"I'm feeling a little dizzy again. Is there somewhere I can lie down, please?"

"I'll just clear up my desk and take you to.." Saying 'my house' sounded a little too odd, so she quickly changed tack. "..where you'll be staying. I won't be long."

They exchanged smiles, confirming that Josephine knew she was to stay here until she returned, and then Lisbon hurried out of the room. Once she was back in her office, she sank onto the sofa and put her head in her hands, taking long breaths. Hightower had been right; athough on the outside Josephine Odell seemed like a polite and brave grown up girl, the inside was a completely different story. Not only was she confused and scared, Lisbon was worried about how she would cope when the after shock finally hit her.

She stood up and began rifling through the mountain of paperwork on her desk, groaning inwardly at the sight of it, and finally found her cell phone. She flipped it open and speed-dialled the first person on her list, not caring that she had already asked Rigsby to call him. There was only one person she needed to talk to right now and, having not been in for almost four days, she was beginning to miss having somebody who could put a smile on her face.

Patrick Jane could do just that.

* * *

He leaned forward and stared hard at the TV. He was on the news! Could you believe it, the fucking news! He looked at his watch and rubbed his smooth jaw. It was only 11.03am. Maybe not  _the_ top story but still, he was on there. He'd have to put a stop to that…or would he?

He sipped his green tea and reached across the table for the remote, ramming the volume up a couple of notches so the orange faced presenter seemed to be shouting the words at him out of his perfectly white-toothed mouth. How many people would be watching this tanned prick? Hundreds of thousands? Definitely. Much more than that, he shouldn't be modest. Millions! People were sitting in their offices, at home, in hospitals, wherever they could get goddamn signal, watching this channel about  _his_  murder. They didn't deserve to because they didn't know how much effort he had put into it, how he had chosen them. No, they only had half the story, the half the newsreaders thought was right and it was always wrong. Still, he liked seeing his beautiful red smiley face blown up on full screen, and the little picture of the person he'd killed before he made them someone special. To think, if he hadn't slit their throat, half of them would never have made it onto the television if not for him. They had him to thank for that.

He felt himself getting excited at just the thought of what he had done and he closed his eyes, trying to stifle the cough tickling the back of his throat. He always remembered a pretty face and his last one had been one of them. Every curve, every line, every misshapen freckle, he remembered it all as if they were on the floor in front of him right now. They were gifts to him and gifts to the media. If the papers and news broadcasters didn't have him to write about, what else would they have? Dull politicians, worthless celebrities? He had more talent in his fucking big toe than any of them had in their lifetimes. He played better games with the media and they loved to tag along. And of course, Patrick Jane liked to join in too.

It hadn't started like that.

His first couple of treasures had been about him finding himself, working out what he did best and building around his strong points. He liked it when they struggled. It made it so much more fun with the adrenaline pumping through him, at the thought of being caught and taken away from all the fun and games. Patrick Jane had never been part of the plan until he walked out onto that stage and opened his big mouth.

" _An ugly tormented little man"_ he had said. No sooner were the words out of his mouth, the rage had filled up inside him. All those people watching had heard him say that. About _him_! He couldn't have that. No pretty little bastard would ever,  _ever_ get away with saying that about him. He couldn't have himself being humiliated by someone and not get his own back.

If he'd kept his mother fucking mouth _shut_ , maybe his beautiful wife and child wouldn't have their throats slit. Just a little something he liked to remind himself once in a while. It never failed to make him smile. After all, she'd been the most interesting one to kill and the most fun. It had started this little game he had with Mr Jane; a game he knew both of them liked to play.

The sweat began to gather on his forehead and on the back of his neck just at the thought of it. He licked his dry lips and his hand gripped the smooth leather on the chair's arm, twisting it in his clammy, shaking fingers. Maybe if he attacked more beautiful woman with children it would be more exciting. He never understood why they always tried to protect the children.

The news piece ended and the dramatic music crackled out of the dying speakers, cueing the commercial break. He stood and brought the empty tea cup over to the sink. He hummed the catchy music through his heavy breaths as he washed the saucer and cup and set them down to dry. Then he turned off the TV and reached for his little black book which sat in the middle of his desk.

It was nearly time. And Patrick Jane was so close.


	8. There's A Blush In Thine Eyes

And what shoulder and what art?

Could twist the sinews of the heart?

And when thy heart began to beat

What dread hand and what dread beat?

* * *

The banged up little Citroen DS-19 trundled into the car park and parked neatly in its usual space. It felt good to be back at Headquarters and its driver felt exactly the same. Straightening his rear view mirror, Patrick Jane took a moment to admire the place he worked, if you could call what he did work, and smiled sadly. So many memories had been made here since he had started working with the CBI. Whenever the team walked out through the doors, there was never anything but the goal of wrapping up their recent case, and when they returned, sometimes in frustration or sadness, they would always talk to each other. This was a place where tears could be shed from sadness or laughter, and any problems could be talked over and passed around without judgement.

But problems were different to secrets and they all had at least one of those.

He watched Van Pelt smile sweetly in thanks at the coffee cart owner as she collected her morning coffee, completely oblivious to the look of sadness upon the man's face as she waved goodbye. He knew she didn't love her coffee as much as he loved her. The man continued to watch her as she walked away, and each step she took seemed to set his heart down another notch. Then an angry woman slammed her change down on the counter and he had to tear his eyes away. Unbeknownst to the poor man was Jane sitting in his car, not too far away, now chuckling to himself as he opened his car door.

Van Pelt saw him before he reached her and she waited until he was beside her, straightening out his waist coat.

"Jane, I was beginning to wonder if you still worked with us. Where have you been?" She stirred her coffee with a raised eyebrow, but he didn't miss the small smile playing on her lips.

"Oh, you know. I've had things to do, places to see, people to visit."

She laughed at his lie and he thought he saw the coffee man glare at him over his customers's heads. Although he enjoyed teasing him for being so shy, he couldn't quite help feeling a little guilty. After all, Van Pelt was only his work college, he could even call her a close friend, but that was as far as it would ever go. She was far too young and out-going for him, and somebody else already had their eye on her who wasn't the man who served her coffee each morning. Agent Rigsby hadn't gone unnoticed as much as he hoped he would.

"I just needed some time to think over some things, but I'm glad you've all missed me." He stepped out of the doorway and gave a small 'after you' gesture to Van Pelt who smiled in return and walked in ahead of him. Before continuing on, he turned back to the glaring coffee counter man and gave him a small 'that's how you do it' tilt of the head, throwing in a wink when he saw the man flush bright red. Hurrying to catch up with her, he realised he'd forgotten everything he'd found out yesterday.

Jane would trade the coffee shop man's little problem of asking out a girl for all of his.

* * *

Lisbon knew he was back before she had even walked into the building.

The people on the way to the lift seemed to have a slight skip in their step as they dashed in different directions and she could have sworn she saw someone smile at her. Or maybe she was just imagining things; the happiness and relief inside her had finally surged past her heart and was working its way up to her head, making her see slightly delusional images.

The last time she had seen him had been back in the bedroom of Marianne Odell's house not even a week ago. She couldn't forget that easily. She had known he would come back eventually because they could never keep him away, but this time she couldn't deny that she hadn't begun to have second thoughts. It wasn't because she didn't love the rest of the team, anything but that; they actually did what she told them to do and she'd had little to no paper work the whole of this week, but it seemed like they deemed her as the 'no question's asked' Boss who expected them to speak to her about nothing but their work, which she could understand. That was what she was there for, to tell them what, when and where to go, but she felt they held things back from her because she was their Boss. Patrick Jane was different.

He was open to her problems and, on the few occasions when she had been venting her frustration, he would listen to everything she had to say before giving any advice. He could read her like a book, which was partly her fault, but from the little she had told him about herself he knew so much more, most of which was from 'guess work' or sheer luck.

There was so much more she wanted to tell him, so much he hadn't guessed because she kept it hidden well away. Because he hid secrets from his own past, she felt it was only fair to keep her own cards close to her chest. Maybe when he told her a little more about his past she would share more about hers. Until then, they would remain hidden.

The lift doors swung open and the sound of laughter filled her ears causing her to stop abruptly. Even the walls seemed to sigh with relief as the sound reverberated up and down the hallway, making the corners of Lisbon's lips turn upwards as she walked towards its source.

Her heart actually skipped a beat when she saw him and this immediately banished the smile from her face because it angered her. She could never think of him that way, not only because of the position she held in her job but because Jane was still in love with his wife, and the recurrences of Red John didn't help. These days, having a conversation with Jane without a reference to Red John was like trying to have a conversation without saying the word 'and': virtually impossible. So, even though her heart sent a ripple up her arms, she kept her face straight and her arms by her sides.

"What's so funny?"

All eyes turned to her and the mood shifted at once. Rigsby cleared his throat and straightened up, rocking on the backs of his heels as he opened the file in his hands and pretended to read. Van Pelt focused her gaze on the computer screen and began typing frantically, even though Lisbon hadn't given her anything to type about, and Cho, well, his face didn't change. He merely looked at her expectantly, waiting for the next task she was about to set them.

Usually this abrupt change would cause Lisbon's heart to sink in confusion, but today she only had to look across at the beaten up leather sofa for it to lift again because there he was; lying stretched out with his arm tucked lazily behind his head which was cocked to one side so he could see her. He smiled slowly and the corners of his mouth seemed to touch the edges of his eyes. It took Lisbon everything she had to stop herself from grinning back.

"Ah, I should have guessed it was you causing all the noise."

"It's nice to see you too Lisbon!" He pushed himself up off the sofa and stood, hands in pockets, grinning around at them all. "Isn't it nice to see her?"

They all nodded robotically and Lisbon gave them half a smile because she knew they were only being polite. None of them would ever have said that to her when she came in each morning, but Jane seemed to know it was what she liked to hear.

"Well, thank you, but that doesn't get us anywhere with the work that needs to be done does it?" She raised a questioning eyebrow at him and turned to address the others just as Rigsby cleared his throat.

"How's Josephine?"

She bit down on the inside of her cheek before speaking, trying to phrase the words so they didn't sound judgmental or too motherly.

"She seems to be coping pretty well. She's asleep right now, but I told her not to leave the house because I'd be back to see how she's doing. I've left an agent outside her house, but I'll probably have to leave early to stay with her. She says thank you for the sandwich too."

Rigsby seemed to struggle with whether or not to say something else, but decided against it and gave a small smile instead.

"Okay. Cho, take Rigsby and go down to Mr Odell's work downtown. Van Pelt will bring up the address for you; see if any of the guys he worked with have any idea where he might be. I have the list of names Josephine gave me here."

She took out the folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Rigsby who immediately passed it on to Cho, just like she knew he would, and they hurriedly pulled on their jackets.

"Van Pelt, we haven't heard anything on Mr Odell but bring up his bank statements, credit cards etcetera, and if anything goes live call the guys. I also want you to check Marianne's work account too, see if there's anything out of the ordinary there." Already hammering away at the keyboard, Van Pelt gave a brief nod to show she understood.

"I'm going back to look over the house one last time." She spoke more to herself than to anyone else in the room but she could sense Jane watching and listening to every word. She quickly turned away so he wouldn't see her cheeks heating up and set off back to the lift. Three steps and he was walking next to her, jacket on, a spring in his step.

"Come on, Lisbon. I return on your request and now your trying to get rid of me?" He smiled at her and the jolt of her heart chimed ironically with sound of the lift doors opening. She entered them quickly, laughing at him over her shoulder as he followed.

"I only asked you to come back because Hightower was getting suspicious about where you were." She pressed the button for the ground floor and the doors closed. "If I wanted to get rid of you, there are many things I could have done."

His reaction was exactly what she wanted; a raised challenging eyebrow and a cheeky grin on his face. He turn to face her as the lift door opened. She hurried into a foyer full of people rushing back and forth, just the way she liked it.

"Oh really?" Jane's voice had a flirtatious edge to it which made Lisbon let slip a laugh. "Enlighten me on these things Lisbon. I like to be prepared."

"Ah ha," they pushed through the double doors and the warmth of the sun crashed down on them, "You're not the only one who likes to have tricks up their sleeves, Patrick Jane." They smiled at each other but as she turned to leave he reached out and caught her arm.

"I missed you Lisbon." His words took her by surprise and, when she turned round, she realised his face was set in a serious manner. The smile didn't reach his eyes, but they spoke more than words, gaze fixed on no thing else but her own. "You're one of the reasons I came back. It's lonely being by yourself for a long time. If you ever need somebody to talk to, you know you can talk to me."

They stood facing each other, unmoving; fellow co-workers hurried past them unaware. Thoughts and phrases bubbled to the surface, floating at the edge of her mind, deciding whether or not they should be spoken out loud.

' _He says it to everyone,_ ' she told herself, ' _I'm not special in that way. We work together, that's it. The line ends at friends. That's all he's being, a good friend..._ '

Slowly, the world began to fast forward back to normal speed. Heart hammering at its natural pace, Lisbon forced her jaw muscles to contract and she managed a smile. He returned it with one of his usual grins as if nothing had happened, already making his way over to the car. Lisbon stood numbly where she was watching him walk away, surprised to find an image of Kristina Frye floating through her chain of thoughts. Jane had asked Kristina out to dinner, not her.

This information remained in her mind as she followed him over to the car, heart sinking with every step she took.

* * *

The man took a deep breath, letting the fresh, unseasonably warm air fill his lungs. Each and every one of his senses was on high alert, like a lone assassin who hears the slow movements of his kill in the room above. He'd tried all sorts of shit back in high school, but this – this was a natural rush that no high could ever come close to. The adrenaline was pumping through him like he was being injected with it. Even though they didn't know who he was, the thought of being recognized or stopped by a cop made his hairs stand on end. It gave him a fucking buzz.

Call him crazy, but as he looked across at Patrick Jane he could thought he could smell him. A rich scent, probably layered over the top with some expensive new fragrance to add to the cockiness he already had. Then again, he didn't need to guess. He'd already smelt it on his when he'd strapped him to that chair. 

The women he attracted were always falling over themselves at the sight of him, arrogant and proud, not a care in the world but for himself. This woman didn't fall into that category.

Standing at shoulder height next to him, she was around 5'4, with black hair which fell just below her shoulders and dressed smartly but not for him. This woman dressed for work and he liked that about her. Women who could think for themselves and took no shit always fought like lions. Teresa Lisbon. Even her name had a tough edge to it. He chuckled quietly to himself.

He rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants. The trees were his friends right now; keeping him hidden from anyone's line of vision so they had no way of seeing him at all. He was camouflaged perfectly.

He remembered exactly when he'd made up his mind in knowing the black haired beauty would be next. It was when he had seen her arguing with Jane outside this very place from this exact same spot. He loved how she walked away when he was trying to explain something to her, never bothering to look back and see his smug little smile vanishing off his face. She could crush his heart in the palm of her hand without even realising it.

She needed someone like him, somebody who would truly love her and treat her the way she liked to be treated. With force. A woman who walked with her head held high like she did didn't take crap from anyone. Of course, this wasn't his only reason for making her his next treasure. There was always another reason to every choice. A man didn't screw another man's wife because he loved her. He did it because he could get away with it or because she enjoyed to it more with him.

He'd seen the look in the Jane's eyes, trying to exchange his feelings to her in one piercing gaze. It was the sort of bullshit you got in Hollywood movies. The world didn't need anymore of that, especially from a heartless prick like Patrick Jane. People had shitty books and movies to watch if they wanted any of that. However, Patrick Jane had been growing closer and closer to this feisty agent the more he worked with her. It seemed she was somebody he could confide in, and she was closer to him than any of the other members of the team.

"Big mistake Mr Jane," the man whispered to himself and he took a sip of green tea, spilling it a little as he started coughing. He mopped up his chin with the back of his hand.

The little black book was open beside him, filled with times and places; dimensions and calculations, all prepared for taking his fiery prize and brandishing it in Patrick Jane's pompous face. The man lowered the binoculars and watched them drive away in her car. The clock was ticking for him and soon, all too soon, both of them would run out of time.

Patrick Jane has just proven a point; one look truly  _could_  kill.

* * *

Jane wasn't sure what had happened back there but he had a feeling it was what had caused the silence in the car. A throbbing pulse was bouncing between him and Lisbon as if they had just had one of their usual rows but this time it had felt like quite the opposite. He tapped his knees nervously and turned his head away so Lisbon couldn't see him grinning. Whatever had happened back there had made her nervous, and this excited him because she very rarely ever got nervous.

The giddy feeling vanished when he realised he probably wouldn't even be around to see if whatever  _had_  happened back there could grow further. That was something he could only imagine happening with Red John gone forever…

"You okay?"

They had stopped at a red light and she was looking at him in the rear view mirror her eyes, unreadable as always, gazing into his. For a fraction of a second he hesitated as the little voice tried to break free, to scream all the words it was forbidden to say, but he pushed it back. 

"The weather and I are feeling the same today; cheerful and warm." She shook her head and turned back to face the road, but he didn't miss the small smile on her lips.

He turned back to the half rolled down window, closing his eyes and letting the sunny breeze scorch his face. The feeling of hopelessness broke through the boundaries he had set up around him and he welcomed it; embraced it as if he were an old friend. He was used to this feeling, used to losing things he already had and, in this case, loving the people he would never have.


	9. Red Remembrance

Josephine woke up with a soft cry; drenched in sweat and gasping for air. She glanced around the room, lit up by the bright midday sun. She had left the curtains open last night; hating the stifling feeling of having them closed because she liked to look at the stars before she went to sleep. They sparkled in their billions, her guardian angels watching over her as she finally made it to the end of another day. But she wouldn't have to think like that anymore because now she could wake up without feeling scared.

She shivered, pushing the covers back and let the sun's warmth soothe her legs. She closed her eyes and was surprised to hear the soft pattering of rain falling onto the open window, and the sound of the birds singing nearby. For one tiny moment, the world seemed to just disappear as the rain washed all of her troubles away.

As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she closely examined the room, taking in every little detail. It was much smaller than her bedroom, with bare white walls and a little desk in the corner, the double bed was the largest item in there, but the carpet and curtains were free of dust so she guessed this must be used as a spare bedroom.

The door was slightly open and she could see the top of the banister leading downstairs to the living room which she already knew wouldn't be vacated. She was quite alone in the house. After telling her to make herself at home, Lisbon had explained that she would be back by four, but "she wasn't to leave the house for any reason what so ever". If she had any problems, no matter how small, she was to call the number stuck to the fridge. Josephine was determined not to ring it.

Her clothes and underwear were sitting on top of the little desk, presumably brought over from her house some time in the early hours of this morning, but she was touched by the fact that Lisbon had neatly folded them all up and arranged them into little piles; trousers, underwear, T-shirts and tops. Choosing an outfit was easy but she was careful not to ruin the neatly folded pile as she took the T-Shirt she wanted from the bottom. It had been a long time since anybody had ironed her shirts, balled up her socks together or folded her jeans. Maybe it was because she'd lost all those who'd cared about her in life, torn away from her like petals on a flower, no longer there for her to hold onto.

The sound of the rain on the window was gradually fading, and she sat back on the bed with her eyes closed until the pattering disappeared completely. All was silent but for the last few drops falling from the window, the birds tweeting their relief, but Josephine was disappointed that it couldn't have lasted longer. The sound of the rain was the one thing that relaxed her more than anything. Opening her eyes, she made up her mind to go exploring. She though it best to look around as much as she could without invading Lisbon's personal space.

Outside of her room were two doors – one she guessed was the bathroom so the latter must be Lisbon's bedroom. Not wanting to invade Lisbon's privacy, she poked her head around the bathroom door and then headed down the stairs into the living room.

Two large arm chairs stood opposite each other with table in between them littered with a variety of magazines and books. A purple chequered tea towel was draped over the top of one arm chair. There was a mug of half finished coffee balanced atop a place mat reading "Cups On, Stains Off!" but she spotted a few circles branded onto the mahogany wood. She couldn't help smiling. The curtains were drawn back and the tall windows made the room look ten times bigger than it was, the net curtains covering them embroidered with beautiful patterns. Josephine wanted to walk over and run her hands over them. 

To her left was a small kitchen, complete with cooker, refrigerator, sink and a few cupboards, but before that was a long desk and two modern bookshelves with only the bottom sectors filled with novels and atlases. There were various coloured boxes, each different in size and different in sound when Josephine shook them; statues varying from Chinese Buddha's to Egyptian Sphinx's; antique vases filled with dusty artificial flowers, and right at the very top, framed in a little cardboard pink frame, was a child's crayon drawn picture signed in their best attempt by someone called 'Sally'.

Pondering on who this could be, Josephine moved over to the desk opposite the front door, which was made up of two tables joined together to make one large one. The first desk was cluttered to the point of having no space on it at all; florescent post-it notes dotted alongside empty notepads, crumpled pieces of paper and to-do-lists which still hadn't been completed. 

The next desk was different to the messy, cluttered one. Filled with rows upon rows of framed photos in various shapes and sizes, they were all crammed together on the dusty desk top, each spotlessly clean. Josephine crouched down on her knees to get a better look, and starting from the very back, she carefully examined each one of the pictures individually before placing them on the floor next to her in the exact the same position as it was on the desk.

Josephine recognised Lisbon's older brothers immediately because they shared her dark hair and piercing bronze eyes. Her mother and father were equally as easy to spot because Lisbon had inherited so many of their features; her mother's high cheek bones and posture in the way she stood, and her father's nose was also easy to spot in a photo where they were both laughing together.

Pictures were such funny things, she thought, as she studied the smiling faces – faces that were becoming more familiar to her with each new photograph she looked at. Snapshots were only a split-second caught in time, but for some people they could capture so much more than just a moment. A family vacation. A night out. A time in college. The high school years.

Lisbon dressed as a little witch on Halloween one year, standing next to her three vampire brothers, all of them pulling what they thought was a scary face. A happy Lisbon sitting with two trophies in her lap. Lisbon hugging one of her brothers as he spun her round in her graduation uniform, fireworks exploding in the sky above them as she threw her head back in laughter. A little girl with blonde hair tied into pigtails was dancing with Lisbon in the kitchen. Could this be the Sally who had drawn the crayon picture?

The smiles all looked so real, but Josephine knew better than to believe that. With the amount of photos they had in  _their_  home, smiles and happiness seemingly evolving throughout their lives, no one would ever suspect that a man, who hugged his wife and daughter, perched on fluffy purple cushion could ever be a monster. How could he stand there and smile like he really meant it, like he really loved them? People think such happy families don't ever have problems, do they? Josephine knew they could.

When she had placed the last photo on the floor, she went into the kitchen and found a damp cloth sitting in the sink, alongside another half finished cup of coffee and an empty plate from Lisbon's breakfast. Making sure she had rung out all the water; she went back and began to wipe away the grey smut covering the desk. Back at home she had dusted and vacuumed her room once every two days because she couldn't stand the thought of it being messy. You could call it a slight obsessive compulsion disorder, but Josephine just liked to keep her room clean. Lisbon's house felt safe, and as long as she felt safe she didn't care for the slight mess.

Yet the house felt so...lonely. There was no air of happiness here, no 'home sweet home' feel, and this surprised Josephine. Lisbon seemed like somebody who could not only take care of themselves but could also take care of other people. So why did it feel empty?

She sat down on the floor and put her head in both hands, closing her eyes. Life was funny. Happy childhood memories always seemed random and spotty, like snapshots taken in a scrapbook. Why you remembered some and not others was anybody's guess. Eating banana on the swings at Silver Tree Park, aiming for the bin and cheering when the peel found its target. Her mom sewing ribbon onto her snow white dress as they talked about horses. Good memories from childhood were never a steady stream – the faces you saw were always somehow obscured or a little bit hazy. But the bad memories, those were all so painfully vivid. They played like a movie in your mind, every detail crystal clear, even years later. And the seemingly most forgotten moments and exchanges that took place – moments that would otherwise never have formed a memory at all – now they, too, became part of the film reel.  
-

" _Mom, I can walk there on my own! Everyone else does."_

_She tried to grab the shopping list off the kitchen counter but her mother reached it first._

" _Josie," her mother smiled down at her and raised an eyebrow, like she always did when she was trying not to laugh, "one day you'll miss our shopping trips in the car. You should be thankful that I'm actually offering to give you a lift!"_

" _Mom! Geez, I'm telling you that I don't want one!"_

" _I'll remember this conversation, Josephine Odell, when you come to me begging for a lift into town! Right, I'll come and pick you up for about five o'clock," she said, packing up the last of her things into her purple handbag. She was wearing the necklace Josie had made for her, the one with pink beads and a big blue heart in the middle._

" _But its Saturday, Mom!"_

_"And don't you have an assignment to finish, Missy? I seem to remember it was the one Mrs Letterman set you because she thought you were getting slightly behind on the work."_

_Josie rolled her eyes. "Come on Mom, you know she only said that because she hates me."_

" _Well why don't you prove her wrong by doing the best you can with it?" She raised her eyebrow again._

" _Mom, jeez…five o'clock?"_

" _You heard me the first time, Missy. Besides, I need someone to help me sew up Madame Juila's hem and we both know how she can get…"_

_They both walked out of the door together, tears of laughter in their eyes.  
-_

A conversation she would never have remembered. One that should have been sorted away into the spotty, generic 'good' pile of memories. Josephine bit her lip to stop the tears that would rush out if she would only let them.

She exhaled a measured breath as she finished putting the last of the photos back onto the desk, and crossed over to the window, peeping out through the net curtains. Sure enough, there was the police car sitting directly opposite the house. The man inside was reading a book rested on the steering wheel, but every now and then he would glance towards the house, checking to see if anything looked suspicious. She couldn't stop herself from smiling a little, but she felt annoyed as well. Didn't Lisbon trust her to look after herself? She wasn't a threat to anybody and there wasn't anyone who was going to come looking for her…was there? She pulled her hands through her hair and blew out another slow breath.

Maybe she should just go back to bed. If something happened to her when she was asleep, at least she wouldn't remember it. She wouldn't have to think too much about what lay ahead of her. It would be quick.

She didn't know what was happening anymore. She had nobody to talk to; no family she could ask for help and no friends who would have a shoulder to cry on. She'd never believed in vampires and ghosts and all the horrible freaks she'd seen in horror movies until she found herself living in one. Now she knew monsters did exist and even the worst things were possible. All the things people watched on TV and thought 'Gosh, I can't imagine that ever happening to me...' really could happen.

Sometimes seeing truly was needed to be believed.

She felt broken, as if she was a human who didn't work properly; as if there was something missing inside her. But, unlike the sily rom-com movies she had watched over and over, no knight in shining armour was going to show up and make everything better. She had to work it out on her own.

Alone, like always.


	10. Caught Red-Handed

"Did you really need to say that?"

"I really did."

"No Jane, you didn't."

"Ah, come on Lisbon! You expect me to just stand there and listen to him lie to your face? Please."

Alas, it was back to normal. Jane was back to his arrogant, mischievous self and it gave her something to focus on other than the mixed feelings she had for the annoying fool. The car journey had been a mixture of an awkward silence and blissful thoughts, which neither realised were running along similar tangents, but as soon as they were on the scene, Lisbon resumed her role of Boss and Jane became a pain in the ass. She felt safe in her comfort zone, knowing what to do and when to do it, and if there was any trouble she could always call her team for help. She still hadn't brought up Josephine and she wanted to put off mentioning it for as long as possible…

"He wasn't even lying. It didn't have  _anything_  to do with the investigation!"

She and Jane had just been over to ask the Odell's gardener, Terry, a few questions having been the only other known person to be around at the time of the murder. He claimed to have been mowing the lawn around the back of the house and he didn't see anyone leave or enter the building until the police arrived. Jane hadn't seemed interested in the questioning like he usually was when he knew something wasn't right, but as she was beginning to walk towards the house Jane spotted what Terry was planting and seemed to go slightly insane, firing questions at the man left right and centre. It had taken her a full 5 minutes to drag him away, leaving a very startled Terry standing by his flowerbeds.

"'What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.'"

She stopped in her tracks and turned to give him a quizzical look.

"Are you feeling okay? Because you are  _more_  than welcome to go and sit in the car if you're just going to quote-?"

"The roses, Lisbon. Marigolds are supposed to grow _around_  the roses."

"Jane I don't ha-"

"If a plant's smell is good, it can attract bugs, harmful bugs; however, it will need help from a companion, or good neighbour plant to prevent this. Roses draw attention to bugs like aphids; small green or black flying insects that suck the juices from the rose buds, often leaving them to die before they can bloom."

He was so close to her now she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheeks. His face was set in an expression of serious concentration, like it always was whenever he was trying to explain something he thought she didn't understand.

"Marigolds, if planted thickly  _around_  the rose garden, help chase aphids away. If planted correctly, even though they may not keep  _all_  the aphids away, they can help and they do it naturally." He gazed over the top of her head lost in thought and she watched as his eyes became mistier and mister. Those stormy grey eyes.

"Jane, if I wanted to know about flowers I'd buy a book. What does this have to do with the case?"

The spell was broken and Jane shook his head slightly, making the curls on the top of his head bounce. For someone who napped so frequently in the same clothes and didn't seem to clean up for days at a time, his hair was always so perfect.

"Well, he was planting the marigold in a pot. Not around the roses. In a pot. Any  _real_  gardener would know that was wrong. Pff, even  _I_ know that! So-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there. Yes, he is a real gardener, we checked his records and no I am not going to bring him in for questioning because he's planting 'some seeds in the wrong place'."

"But the marigold and the rose are plant buddies, they have to look after each other or-"

"Jane. Can we please move along?" she ordered, trying to keep the laugh out of her voice as she watched his face fall, "I need you to help me solve a case not tell me how to improve my garden."

"You have a garden?" He skipped to keep up with her as she began to walk quickly away from him across the front lawn.

"No, but I wish I did. I like flowers."

"You do?" He looked away from her, but she knew he was grinning to himself as he tried to imagine her tending weeds and planting pretty little roses next to each other. "You've never struck me as a 'flowery' type of person."

"Says you Mr I'll-make-myself-look-clever-by-quoting-Shakespeare. Yeah, I heard you back there."

"Wow Lisbon, I might have to stop and lie down."

"Ha! You do enough of that already without me giving you an excuse to! There are lots of things you don't know about me Patrick Jane…"

The words had meant to sound flirtatious but they weren't spoken that way, and she realised the mistake too late. She didn't lower her head in embarrassment but she avoided Jane's gaze which she knew was focused on nothing but her.

"We all have secrets don't we?" he murmured, more to himself than to his college, and she smiled sadly as they reached the front steps where the officer was waiting for them. She wished they'd had this conversation in the car, maybe then they could have had a conversation about something other than work. The last time they'd had one was…well, she couldn't remember. With Jane fully engrossed in anything and everything Red John, and herself tied down with work, they never had time to 'chat', although he tended to try and start conversations off at the most inappropriate moments. Examining a dead body was one of them. These occasions summed Jane up perfectly - unpredictable and aggravating.

She casually brushed back her jacket so the officer could catch a glimpse of her badge and he gave a quick nod of his head before resuming his bored gaze into midair. Seeing as it was nearly one she knew he wouldn't have to wait much longer until he was switched with someone else, and could go and have his lunch. She didn't pity him too much for standing around all day, in fact she'd swap keeping an eye on Jane for standing around for half a day anytime. Maybe then they'd appreciate just how lucky they were.

"So, what exactly are we looking for?" His voice took her by surprise and she stopped in the foyer to take in the familiar surroundings. Some of the photos were missing from the wall above the banister and the once kept white marble floor was now covered in powder and footprints, but it still looked like a home. It didn't matter what she said to Jane, she knew that he would go around doing what  _he_  thought they should be doing, and even though she tried to keep him under control he always found a way to get himself into trouble; be it arguing with the gardener or secretly taking something from the house. 'Do what you like' was what she wanted to say, but it wasn't her job too and it would only encourage him even more.

"We're looking for anything that could tell us the whereabouts of Mr Odell. Place names, friends, you find anything you tell me." She gave him a stern look before turning her back on him and heading towards the stairs.

"Where are  _you_  going?" He had already started picking up objects and she knew he wasn't really interested; he just wanted to sound like he was so he could take a calculated guess at how long it would take her to find him.

"I'm going upstairs," she placed her hand on the banister as if to prove her point, "to take a look at the crime scene again."

"Okay."

"Call me if you find anything." She waited until he had walked through the archway into the lounge before continuing on her way, hoping that, just this once, Jane wouldn't cause any trouble. She had enough paperwork at the moment to last her a lifetime.

* * *

Silence is golden, but Jane made sure he was as loud as subtly possible for Lisbon to think he was occupied until he was sure she was up the stairs. He stopped dramatically coughing whilst opening drawers and ran to the archway, peeping around it to see if she was out of sight before heading to the opposite staircase. He wanted to look in the spare room again and take a look around Josephine's room because if anywhere in this house held answers, it was with Josephine. Children saw everything; not just little inquisitive ones but growing teenagers too. They may hide upstairs in their room hidden behind the loud music, but they always seemed to notice the things which shouldn't be seen.

Carefully making sure Lisbon was still occupied in the master bedroom, he turned the doorknob to the spare room and stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. The last time he had been in here he hadn't been interested in searching for evidence, he hadn't been himself. After a thorough rummage through the desk's drawers and a quick peek under the bed he knew there was nothing to be found, just as he had suspected but there was nothing wrong with checking to make sure. He sat on the bed and took out his mobile, making a split second decision on what he was about to do next.

Cho answered on the first ring.

"Kimball Cho."

"Cho! I was hoping you would pick up."

"You dialled my phone, Jane. Of course you knew I'd pick up."

He smiled to himself. In all his years working alongside the CBI he had met a lot of people; different ages, different cultures, different backgrounds but he had never met anyone who was more serious about their job than Cho, and it made Jane proud to be his friend. He marvelled in the way he did his job but he also enjoyed trying to make him crack a smile when he was working.

"Meh, I thought you might be wrestling down the bad guys so you might not have been able to answer th-"

"What do you want, Jane?"

He knew the others, Rigsby and Van Pelt, would be watching him from their desks, maybe sharing an eye roll at each other or shaking their heads impatiently as they resumed the work he had interrupted them completing.

"Could you run a full background check on the Odell's gardener?"

"The gardener? Why him?

"Just…something's wasn't right about him when I spoke to him today. Of course, Lisbon doesn't understand the difference between a snowdrop and a weed but-"

"Jane."

"Could you just check it? I know it'll only take you about 10 seconds to pull up his information and, you know, it'll give you something to do…"

"Alright, I'll see what I can find."

"Thank you!"

He snapped the phone shut with a big grin on his face, already knowing what Cho was going to find but telling them what he already knew would make it too easy for them. They had to work it out for themselves, even if it did involve him giving them a little push in the right direction. His work was done in this room so it was time to go into Josephine's, which he was both excited and dreading going into. This was his daughter's bedroom and, even though he had never met her before, he was still her father. Nobody but Cho knew the connection between them and he hoped it would be a long time before anybody else knew. 

He dashed across the hall to the door opposite, not caring whether Lisbon saw him, threw it open and sidestepped into the room so he could lean on the wall. The first thing he noticed was that the room seemed to be split down the middle; one side filled with happy memories and creativity, the other loneliness and misery. The obvious divide between the two was a large dent in the plaster right in the middle of the wall, which looked like it was from an object being thrown or part of the human body being thrust into it. Leaning closer, Jane could see four rivets slightly deeper than the rest of the dent which obviously meant this was caused by somebody punching the wall with their fist. Josephine?

The creative side of the room which held Josephine's desk, bookcase and wardrobe, was painted with patterns using the same colours as the two walls, purple and blue. He noticed that the paintbrushes were hidden under her desk alongside a small box of acrylic paints, the types you got in little wooden boxes as a gift, so the patterns must all have be drawn by Josephine. Spirals and words, shapes and numbers, all in different shades of purple and blue. They looked beautiful, even the ones which seemed to have been done in a hurry or the abusive words written in small spiky letters. They made the room more personal.

Silvery orbs were dancing around the room and Jane slowly glanced around for their source. The sun was gleaming in through the window onto the bookcase where a pair of pom-pons lay scrunched up between the tops of the books, the slivery streamers reflecting the sun's light around the room. He found himself reaching up to take the poms off the shelf, and he began running his fingers through the metallic pieces as he peered down to look at the mirror which was almost totally obscured by photos. After a quick scan Jane noted that Josephine was in only three photos with the same people - two brunette girls -  and the others were all of her smiling and pulling faces with footballers or cheerleading friends. 

What struck Jane was how old these photos were. He could see that the latest photo was well over two years old and, as he clutched at the pom, he looked over at the hole in the wall, feeling something inside him break.

"Jane?"

He froze, a pom-pon in each hand, and turned slowly towards the doorway attempting to make his expression casual. Lisbon was leaning on the door frame, eyebrows raised and a small smirk on her face which she was trying to hide.

"I was beginning to wonder when you would come and find me."

"Well Jane, have you found out anything that might help us to locate Mr Odell's whereabouts?"

"Yes," he smiled as her eyebrows disappeared higher into her fringe, "I have actually but I'll need to wait for Cho to get back to me."

"You're not going to let me know?"

"…Meh. You never know, I could be wrong." He knew he wasn't.

"Oh," she stepped towards him into the room, "so you thought that instead of telling me what you'd found, like I told you to do, you decided to go snooping instead?"

"I wouldn't call it snooping…"

She eyed the pom-pons he was holding as she hooked her thumbs into her pockets.

"Really."

"Nope." He shook one of the poms in her face and she glared at him, pouting her lips. "Snooping makes me sound like I'm sneaking around looking to cause trouble, which I'm not. I'm just 'examining' things." To prove his point he held out a pom-pon to her, gesturing for her to take it, and when she didn't he shook it nosily. "Come on Lisbon, you used to be a cheerleader didn't you?"

His question caught her off guard and he saw a look of shock cross her face, but she recovered quickly and took the pom, the colourful streamers slipping through her fingers.

"No, I was a track runner. Cheerleading wasn't my thing in high school because I hated the girls who did it, but because both my brothers were on the football team they didn't give me a hard time."

She wouldn't look at him now, her eyes fixed downwards on the pom she was fiddling with in her hands. He realised he must have opened a door into her past and her pushed her for more.

"Why would they have picked on you?"

She laughed to herself quietly. "I wasn't exactly the skinniest girl when I was younger, but as I began to run more my waist went inwards and my shoulders went outwards. To me when I looked in the mirror I saw a normal teenager, but to the rest of the girls, they thought I looked more like a man because I preferred joggers and T-shirts over skirts and crop tops. I became Teresa 'LisMan' for a majority of my high school years.

"I know," she sighed when she saw the look on his face. "You would have thought that the older we get, the more mature we become but instead we just step up the immaturity level. It just becomes violence instead."

They stood in silence for a moment listening to the sounds of the trees outside and the distant jingling of wind chimes. He could understand why the Odell's had decided to live here, far away in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nature and free to roam wherever they wanted. It reminded him of his own house, high up in the hills with the sounds of the distant sea and a perfect view of the sunrise and sunset.

"Jane, can I ask you something?"

"Mmmhm?" he tore himself away from a place which had once been happy.

"I was going to ask you this when we got back but it might save time now." She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. "Can you explain to me why the last person Marianne Odell ever spoke to on the phone before she died was you?"


	11. Check Red

Kimball Cho always double checked his new information, even if he had followed the rules by the book or it had taken him well over 2 hours to finally finish, no matter how sure he was he always checked twice. Especially if the information had been a tip off from Jane.

Cho had observed the troubled man's time as a consultant with the CBI from the very beginning. He quickly gained a reputation as 'the man who liked to disagree with suspects' with his never ending pile of tricks which kept the team on their toes, but Cho still knew he remained shattered inside. Everything on the outside was an act; a charade, a mask which he thought would conceal the truth from the others, but they weren't as gullible as he thought they were. They knew. Sometimes they would see a darkness in his eyes or a hear quiver in his voice but they respected him enough not to bring it up.

His thoughts drifted to the conversation in the car when they had been returning from the crime scene of Marianne Odell. He felt the goose bumps slowly rising on his arms as he pictured Jane, head in hands, murmuring to himself all the way back to the office. Cho wasn't worried about Jane looking after himself, what he did outside of the office was 'personal', but seeing a man like Jane cry shook something inside of Cho. Men hated being seen crying especially by other men, it is a known fact, unless it it's tears of joy.

Tears of sadness, on the other hand, are seen to be a sign of weakness and vulnerability which a man like Jane would never let anybody see. He wouldn't even let Lisbon through the door to his past, and Cho knew that the conversation in the car was something of a 'stepping stone' in Jane's life. What he didn't know was whether it was a stepping stone towards Jane opening up more or the beginning of something spiralling out of control.The more he spoke about it, the easier it would become to let go of his past and Cho knew this from his own experience. Keeping the past away was hard when ghosts kept drifting back, but he found talking about it the easiest way to move on.

"Hey Cho, you got anything from what Jane said?"

Rigsby was looking at him eagerly over his own computer, itching to escape the stuffy room as much as Cho was.

"Gardener. Terry Overton."

"Wait, what! The gardener did it? Ah man, this sounds like one of those weird little British crime dramas." He cleared his throat and attempted a pathetic cockney accent. "Oi gavner. 'e did it with the shovel did'n'e?"

Cho risked a quick glance at Van Pelt who was watching Rigsby with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, yet the look in her eyes said what words could not. Noticing that Cho was watching her she turned back to her screen with cheeks red enough to match the colour her hair, more flustered than she had been moments ago.

"I don't think so," Cho showed no sign of having witnessed Van Pelt's affection, "he's been in contact with Mr Odell a couple of times and the most recent phone call was yesterday. 10 minutes long."

"A lot can happen in 10 minutes." Van Pelt cut in refusing to look at any of them, cheeks still slightly pink. "You could arrange a kidnapping in 5 minutes…maybe sweet talk someone into murder in another 5."

"Speaking from experience, are you?" Rigsby swivelled round on his chair to face her, one eyebrow cocked as he twirled his pen between two fingers. Van Pelt smirked but still didn't look over at him.

"I'm just saying that I think we should check him out…"

"Course you were…"

She looked at him playfully, lightning dancing across the room between them, but the moment was ruined when she sneezed into her hands and the midday sun sparkled on the ring around her finger. Despite the slight slip in his smile, Rigsby regained his composure but not well enough. Even though she wasn't engaged to O'Laughin anymore, Cho could see the knife slowly sliding itself between his ribs, piercing his heart. He watched images flash across Rigsby's glazed eyes as his friend imagined his own ring wrapped proudly around her finger...

"Okay," Cho decided to put his friend out of his misery. "Rigsby, I'll call Lisbon on the way there. Van Pelt, bring up the credit card details of Terry Overton. See what you can find."

Although he chose to keep his emotions to himself, he felt the team had become something of a second family; Wayne, Lisbon, Grace, Jane. They spent so much time together, not just out in the field but breaks and lunchtimes too. Cho even met up with Rigsby or Jane for a drink every now and again, sometimes sitting for hours in silence just listening to the music and chatter, their unspoken thoughts drifting in the atmosphere around them. He knew Jane need somebody else's company. Even though he would never admit it, he was a very lonely man.

Cho climbed into the passenger seat beside his colleague and fastened his seatbelt with Jane's words about Red John still ringing in his ears.

_"How many more of my friends is he going to kill before we finally catch him?"_

He couldn't answer that, nobody could. They were all at risk. He just hoped, not only for the release it would give his friend, but for the sake of the team that they caught Red John soon before it was too late.


	12. Cinnamon Secrets

_"Can you explain to me why the last person Marianne Odell ever spoke to on the phone before she died was you?_

_  
_It felt like ice had been injected into his body. An arctic fluid was flowing quickly through his arms and feet, circulating all the way up to his head where he finally closed his eyes and shuddered. This was guilt. He was going to have to tell her everything now because she knew. Nothing got past Lisbon. Granted, his magic tricks and mind games might fool her every now and again, but when it came to her work no wool could be pulled over _her_  eyes. His tongue had turned to cardboard and he swallowed. She deserved to know the truth. He was running out of time.

He took a deep breath and raised his head slowly. "I…"

A mechanic bleating noise came from her back pocket, and he sighed with relief as she took out the source and held it in her hand.

"Oh no," she said when she saw him sigh with relief, "I'm not finished with you yet. I'm only just getting started." Her threatening words had a strange effect on him; they stirred something deep down, a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time as he imagined her saying those words in a different scenario, both of them wearing a lot less than they were now…

She snapped her phone shut and the sound of his own heartbeat jolted him back to the room, ashamed that he had even dared to let his mind wander that far. He saw Lisbon hesitate before she turned round, and he immediately knew who had been on the other end of the phone.

"Are they on their way to pick up the gardener?" he chirped, trying to keep his voice casual. The look she gave him was all he needed for an answer, unable to suppress the Cheshire cat grin from spreading across his face. He'd been right.

"No."

"Yes."

"No Jane."

"Yes Lisbon."

"No Jane, it wasn't even a call from the office." She arched one eyebrow daring him to contradict her, but he merely smiled and turned to leave the room. He  _knew_  he was right but he'd play along anyway just to keep her smiling. He stopped and looked over his shoulder just in time to see her wiping the smirk off her face to replace it with an angry pout, which he happened to love even more.

* * *

It rarely happened but Patrick Jane had been wrong, and it gave her great delight in saying that out loud. In her head that is. She didn't want to start an argument on whether he was right or not because it only aggravated her to the point of punching him in the face. She wouldn't find it so tediously annoying if he wasn't almost always right.

She decided it was sheer coincidence how, standing in Josephine's room, its owner had chosen to phone her.  Josephine had rung her to ask if the man in the car outside her house was actually a police officer keeping an eye on her, or someone she should be worrying about. On the phone she sounded a lot younger than her age and her voice seemed to tremble with worry, so much so Lisbon decided that she would tell the team she was spending the next couple of days at home to look after her. Spending time away from work was like living in a rich man's world with no money, impossible, but Lisbon knew the girl needed some company after everything she'd been through.

She could get used to living in a house like this, Lisbon thought, but until she found the money tree her father always used to talk about, she could keep on dreaming. As she followed Jane down the hallway she stopped outside a small stain glass window, and through the kaleidoscope of colours she looked into back garden. It seemed to go on and on forever; a never-ending sea of grass stretching out past the fields and trees, far beyond the horizon.

"Penny for your thoughts, madam?" Jane murmured surprisingly close to her ear, and she was glad he couldn't see the hairs tingling up her arms through her jacket.

"I'm wondering why I found you in Josephine's room and not outside pestering the gardener about his roses."

"Meh, pom pons are more fun to play with."

"Oh really, so you just like to wind people up so you can get answers out of them? Do you know how much paperwork that all comes down to at the end of the day? A lot, because it ends up on _my_ desk."

"Isn't that your job, Lisbon," she could hear the smile in his voice as she tried to walk ahead of him, "I'm only doing my job so you can do yours."

"I don't remember anything in my job description that said, 'Keep an eye on the jackass who may give you lots of paperwork.'" 

They reached the balcony overlooking the foyer where the stairs curved in opposite directions, pictures leading the way down the walls. As she set her foot on the top step, Lisbon found herself gazing up at the large photo of Josephine and Marianne Odell, the one the officer had caught her staring at the first time she had been here. The two of them were so beautiful, the afternoon light falling on the canvas in such a way Lisbon half expected them to move at any given moment.

It was something about the smile and the eyes which again had her mind struggling to think where she had seen them before, so piercing and bright she was surprised she couldn't remember them.

"Hey Jane!" She turned to look at him, already laughing at how ridiculous she would sound, but she knew he would laugh  _with_  her not  _at_  her. She could always rely on that. It was one of the things she loved most about him.

"You see this photo, well I-" her words caught in her throat as he came up behind her, a big grin still plastered on his face and she knew where she had seen the portrait's features before. She saw his smile fade into a confused expression as he noticed the seriousness of her gaze. A thought pushed itself to the front of her mind, and she throttled it away because of its absurdity. There was no way  _that_ could possibly be true. Could it? They'd both laugh about this when she showed him the comparison then they could go back to the car and drive to CBI Headquarters lost in their daydreams.

"Jane, don't you think-" she tried to keep her voice cheery and light, but he cut in before she could finish.

"I rang Cho by the way and told him about our green fingered friend."

"Really…" She hated it when he interrupted her. "Well we'll see what he comes up with. Hey, don't you think that-"

"I know he'll find something because what sort of gardener would-"

"Yes Jane, the flowers. You've mentioned them. Don't you think that-?"

"I know I have, but I just think-"

"Jane. Could you let me finish. Please?"

He sighed and she was surprised to see him rubbing his knuckles impatiently over and over again like he was worried. His face was paler than it was before and the cheery smile had vanished.

"I know it must be some weird coincidence, but I noticed this when I first walked into the house." She gestured to the large portrait behind her, wondering if he could notice how sweaty her palms were. "Don't you think Josephine looks like you? I mean, she has Marianne's nose and facial shape but she just…I don't know. What do you think?"

He wouldn't look at the portrait. His gaze was fixed on a point across from where they were standing. She began to repeat what she had just said but her words faded away, turned down by an invisible radio dial. She thought the roaring in her ears was the house and everything in it collapsing on top of her, but it was merely the blooding rushing around her head. The truth hit her with such a force that she felt light headed, realisation and pain mixing together, preparing to explode inside her chest as each new understanding bruised her painfully.

She understood why he'd wanted to go into Josephine's bedroom.

She understood why he'd been in contact with Marianne Odell.

She understood why he'd been crying in the spare bedroom.

Her insides felt like they were collapsing in on themselves, falling into each other to form one emotion; betrayal. 

"I knew it was more than a coincidence" she whispered, her voice quaking with rage as tears began to mist her eyes.

"Lisbon, I can explain."

"Oh right." She was waiting for him to look at her; to meet her eyes and beg her to understand, but he did nothing. His thoughts were more interesting than any of the answers she wanted. They always were.

"I don't even know why I'm surprised." She spoke to the side of his face, the adrenaline driving through her like an illegal drug. If she didn't walk away now she knew she would say or do something regrettable, but she didn't care.

"You say I should trust you, yet you can't even trust me. I don't even know why the hell I put up with your crap."

She turned and jogged quickly down the staircase. Her movement seemed to jolt Jane out of his trance, and he was quickly running after her, calling her name.

"Lisbon, wait! I can explain…"

"Bullshit Jane! It always is, isn't it? Anything else you're hiding from me?" She pushed through the front doors and whirled around, nearly colliding with him as he stopped breathlessly in front of her. They were face to face and she was breathing angry breaths inches from his pale face.

"I understand that we all have secrets, but when it's something to do with the case I expect you to tell me." His silent reply coaxed words to fall out her mouth before she could stop them. "Do you know anything else about Marianne Odell that we don't? Or are you just going to keep that hidden away as well?"

Why were tears threatening to spill from her eyes? She had argued with him before, countless times, and she lost count of the time he had lied to her face. But this felt different. She had never ached like this before, crushed to the point of crying.

"What else are you hiding, Jane? Do you know something about Red John? Is  _he_ hidden away somewhere that you're not telling us, so you can watch us run around looking like 'fools' in your little game?"

The colour drained from Jane's face and he turned away from her, but not before she had seen the anger in his eyes.

"Wait, no. I didn't mean it...I went too far…it's just-"

"Let me take you out."

"-it just came out and…what?"

"Let me take you out. To explain everything. I'll tell you what you need to know about Marianne. I'll tell you everything you need to know about the case. Call it a fancy interrogation if you like."

His gaze was so direct, so powerful that she felt the anger inside her extinguish itself almost at once. They looked at each other for a moment. A flush began to rise into her neck and with it a surging irritation. She'd grown far too used to pushing away her feelings for this man. He would not rattle her simply by looking at her. She wouldn't allow it.

"You nearly had me there, Jane.  _Nearly_. I'm going to take you in like every other suspect and-"

"Please Lisbon. I'd have to start from the very beginning to explain it all. Please, just let me take you somewhere I can?"

Of course, she would give him no answer to that question, the smirking idiot. She noticed that the neck of his shirt was missing two of its buttons.

"You're shirt is missing some buttons," she heard herself saying, though she didn't know where such an irrational comment came from.

His mouth twitched, and his words, when he spoke, did not conceal his laughter.

"I didn't know you were so interested in my shirt, Teresa."

Her face was hot, and his laughter was infuriating. This was absurdity and she wasn't putting up with it any longer.

"I'm calling Hightower to tell her I'm going home," she said, and she turned to leave. In a flash he was running to block her path.

"Tomorrow night," he said.

Lisbon tried to step around him.

"I'm going home."

He blocked her path again, and this time he raised his arm. Lisbon cocked her head upward and looked into his eyes.

"I'm going back home," she said, "and if I have to knock you over to do so then I will."

"I won't allow you to go," he said, "until you accept my offer."

She moved to pass him, and he moved to block her, and it was almost with relief that she felt the anger ignite through her veins.

"Why would I want to sit and talk to somebody who I can't trust, never knowing when they're telling the truth or talking utter bull-"

"I've made a plan."

"What plan?"

"Well, you're taking some time off work to look after Josephine, and I'm always up for a bit of a challenge, so I've thought of one."

Lisbon folded her arms and gave him one of her famous glares. She wanted to ask him why the hell  _he_  wasn't the one looking after his own daughter, yet she was curious as to where this was going. "And…"

"And, since you're so sure you cannot trust me, and I reckon you can, I think I'd better prove it to you."

"And exactly how are you going to do that?"

"How many days are you going to take off? Knowing you, if today is Tuesday you'll take the rest of the week off. Five days. There are five letters in trust and five letters in smile, both I want to see more of from you."

"And…"

"And, O cynical one, we're going to take it in turns to decide what to do on those days. Turn and turn about. You one day, then me the next, then you again, then…"

"I get the picture, Jane."

"Right! Shouldn't have any trouble then should you, thinking up things to do?"

"And the point of this will be?"

"You're going to see you can trust me."

"Yeah, right."

"We're going to go out of our comfort zones. We're going to see each other in new situations and new places, and you're going to find out how trustworthy I am." He was grinning, and Lisbon didn't know whether he wanted to be taken seriously or whether he was winding her up.

"You're crazy, you know that? I've known you long enough to know that your meaning of 'trust' runs in a different category to mine. Hasn't today proven that?"

"Maybe it's not as different as you think." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, even if we don't learn anything at least it'll be fun!"

"Right. Fun. When is spending time with you  _not_  fun?"

He shook his head at the tone of her voice.

"You disappoint me with your lack of enthusiasm, Lisbon, not to mention your lack of positiveness."

"Oh shut up. I know you well enough to know you can't change. You know too, if you stop being a clown for a minute."

"One question, grumpy. When was the last time you went out and enjoyed yourself?"

She pushed her hands deep into her pockets and frowned deeply. "Probably…last week…"

He tipped his head back and smiled up at the sky, making her want to both stroke and punch his face. He knew she was lying.

"Well then. Why not try these next few days? Just you and me, Jane and Lisbon. Jisbon." He let out a little laugh which sounded surprisingly sad. "Live a little."

Lisbon had no answer to that.

As if on cue, a car crunched up the driveway, its sounds breaking the eye contact between them as they both turned to distinguish its owner. Lisbon was relieved and oddly disappointed to see Cho and Rigsby sitting inside, and she gave them a small wave.

"I'll stay here and tell them you're going home." Jane's voice sounded far away as she continued to watch the two passengers get out and head towards the back garden.

"See you tomorrow then. Day One of the Jisbon five."

And with that he sped off, leaving her trying to figure out whether she should cry out with frustration or jump for joy at the prospect of spending time with Patrick Jane.


	13. Bittersweet Beliefs

What the hammer? What the chain?

In what furnace why thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

* * *

Hightower sounded tired through the phone and Lisbon couldn't help feeling sorry for her. Plenty of cases were already underway at Headquarters, but whenever Red John decided to strike everyone dropped everything. Potential suspects and fresh evidence was all abandoned for a serial killer who enjoyed playing with them, and yet cases close to trial, with more than enough evidence to back them up, were put on hold causing families and friends stress and grief. 

Marianne's murder had confused police and profilers because her crime scene was more trivial than any of the previous Red John murders, the killer having decided to change the chronological pattern they had come to expect from any Red John case. The major details were still the same; claret smiley face on the wall and the victims brutal COD, but there were never any victims left alive in the same proximity. So what had made him change his tune?

"We've managed to contact the grandmother, seems like she was holidaying in the mountains when we last tried phoning her so she couldn't take the call. Should be able to pick her up on Monday which is when you will be returning back to work, yes?"

Lisbon had explained to Hightower that she would stay off work until the end of the week to take care of Josephine, and she was pleasantly surprised that her Boss had agreed so quickly.

"Yes ma'am. I'll make sure I'm in early to catch up on anything I've missed."

"Don't worry about that, Cho and Rigsby will keep you updated every day so when you return you can get right back into the field. Although you're missing a rather good chance to have a more relaxed week at work. It seems that you and Jane will be returning back at the same time. Is there anything you'd like to tell me about that?"

"I...our...Jane...I honestly had no idea he would be taking the same time off as me!" Lisbon spluttered, her voice dripping with guilt. "I know how it must look but I can assure you it-"

"A mere coincidence, I'm sure..." Hightower chimed in before the agent on the end of the phone could dig her hole any deeper, "Tell Josephine I was asking for her. I'll see you both back in on Monday." The phone clicked off, leaving Lisbon with the whining dial tone ringing in her ear. She snapped the phone shut and tucked it into her jacket pocket, digging around for her door keys. A pile of tissues fell onto the car seat along with what seemed to be an endless number of pens, way more than anny given person needed in their bag. Her hand brushed the bottom and she grasped at what she thought was the key chain to her keys only to feel it crumble in her hands. She'd told herself she'd regret putting those dog biscuits into her bag. Trying not to scatter crumbs everywhere, she reached into one of the side pockets et voila the keys were there.

"Miss Lisbon?"

Her head whipped up and she heard her neck click. Josephine's head was peering timidly around the front door, eyes gazing anxiously into Lisbon's as a faint smile spread across her face.

"Hey Josephine, I was just looking for my keys!" She waved them in the air to prove her point. "Please call me Teresa. It makes me sound like you're my maid if you call me Miss!"

Locking the car behind her she made her way up the steps, her gaze never leaving the girl at the door.

"Is everything okay? I told the officer outside to head back to the office because it was making you feel uncomfortable, but you must understand that I'm just doing my job. You're in my custody so I have to protect you."

Josephine smiled. "It's okay, I just thought it might be someone impersonating a police officer so…" she dropped her gaze to the floor, shuffling her feet from one to the other, "I decided to phone you to make sure. I'm sorry if I interrupted anything." She looked into Lisbon's eyes and for a moment she thought the girl was going to burst into tears. "I just…I thought maybe…"

"Hey, don't worry okay? You didn't interrupt anything I was just finishing up at the scene when you called."

"At my house…"

Lisbon gazed at the scratched and bruised face knowing there was no way she could lie to her. "Yes."

They were silent for a moment and all that could be heard was the water trickling down through her neighbors drain. The rush of water was somewhat soothing.

"Oh sorry! I'm stopping you from coming into your own house!" Josephine stepped out of the doorway and beckoned Lisbon inside. Lisbon could have stood there for a lot longer, but she hurriedly wiped her feet on the doormat and headed into her front room.

"You have a really nice house, it's very…cosy." She stood awkwardly in the kitchen, watching Lisbon remove her shoes and place her handbag on the chair. She remained stock still as if one false step would cause her to be tossed out onto the street. Lisbon knew how it feet to be afraid, she'd been in her position,

"Jo, can I call you Jo?"

"Sure"

"Okay Jo, in this house I want you to do whatever you want. You're free to do whatever you want when you want. If you want to watch TV, that's fine. If you want to borrow anything, that's okay. If you want to get up at 2am and make hot chocolate, hey! I'm not going to stop you. I might even come down and join you." She let out a small laugh and watched the weight from Josephine's shoulders lift as she raised her eyes to meet Lisbon's.

"Oh, so you don't believe me?" She lifted one eyebrow and pushed up the sleeves of her shirt behind her elbows. "I'll prove it, follow me!"

Leading the way into the tiny kitchen she beckoned the girl to join her beside the speckled green counter, which she noticed was a lot cleaner than when she had left it.

"I see someone's been doing some cleaning up?"

Josephine blushed and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I hope you don't mind, I just thought it was the least I could do for you, letting me stay here and everything you know? I can put it back if you like…"

"No, no, it's fine, thank you! But please don't feel like you have to do this because you're staying here. What's mine is yours, girl!" She froze, her hands still rubbing the clean counter. "Did I really just say that?" She turned to look at Josephine who nodded, biting her lip attempting not to laugh.

"That's a side of myself I don't normally show to people! Don't tell anyone I said it okay? Not that I don't mean it, but I'd lose my reputation as the 'badass Boss'" A small laugh escaped from Josephine's lips and she mimed zipping her mouth shut. 

"Your secret is safe with me Teresa."

She was really smiling now, cheeks forming crescent moon dimples and Lisbon felt her heart melting. Once upon a time she had been in exactly the same position this girl had; no mother, a father vanished to goodness knows where and a feeling of being left alone forever. She didn't want to watch someone else go through what she had. Teresa had at least had her brothers.

"Hop up onto the counter. Go on, like this." She pushed herself up onto the counter with one hand, "It was the first thing I did when I came into this house. Your turn." She tapped the space next to her, and after hesitating for a moment Josephine mirrored Lisbon's one handed spring.

"Looks like someone's an expert at sitting on counters, am I right?"

Josephine leaned back against the wooden cupboards, head turned towards Lisbon. She smiled sadly, eyes suddenly falling to her hands clasped in her lap. "I only used to do it when I was alone in the house. Mum would have freaked if she saw me sitting on any of the surfaces. She was someone who used to go crazy if I brought hand picked flowers into the house!"

"How come?"

"She just…she didn't really like having anything in from outside because she had this thing about germs. Everything had to be cleaned regularly; carpets, kitchen surfaces, door handles, everything. When people came over to visit it was always a nightmare because Mom would be trying to ignore that they were walking around the house in shoes, or someone had accidentally dropped food on the floor." She let out a sigh and turned to look into the evening sun resting between the trees. "I love her though, and I wonder why it hasn't hit me yet, you know? The grief. Knowing that she's never coming back. It still feels like she's gone away and any minute now she'll come knocking at the door and take me away. Is something wrong with me?"

"No, there's nothing wrong with you," she said, her tone much quieter than before, "it'll come eventually even if it takes a few days or weeks. It might hit you all of a sudden or it might be a gradual process, but it'll come."

"I'm scared of what I'll feel. What happens if I never feel anything, does that make me a bad person?"

"Don't worry Jo, you'll feel something. Letting go of someone we love, we can't  _not_ feel pain, even if it's guilt or anger. Not feeling anything right now doesn't mean you're any more or less human."

The clouds were disappearing into the darkness, silhouettes and shadows beginning to climb up the walls. She jumped off the counter and drew the blinds to cover the window, flicking on the light switch as she turned to face Josephine.

"If there's anything else you want to talk about, don't be afraid to ask. I know I keep saying it but I want you to treat this house any way you like. Although I might have to draw the line at having any house parties here. I don't think my Boss would be happy if she found out that an officer on her team allowed under aged teenagers to drink in her house."

Josephine smiled. "You won't have to worry about that. I don't want to abuse what I've been given and I can't thank you enough for…" she gestured to the walls around her, "this. It must really suck having to take a stranger into your own home, so I'm sorry if I get in the way. I always do."

"Don't think like that! I'll be nice having someone around, the spare room has been gathering dust for ages and it actually made me clean up around here! But I think I must have I missed the kitchen..."

"You don't have to change anything because I'm here. It's nice, cosier than where I used to live." Lisbon noticed how she avoided using the word 'home'.

"It's not much, but it's a roof over my head and a place to come home to at night. I know it'll always be here if I need it, which is more than I can say for other things…" She drifted off realising she had said more than she had meant to, but before an awkward pause could unfold she quickly changed the topic.

"I hope the clothes I brought over are okay. They're the only ones they gave me, but I have some spares upstairs if you need anything."

"No no, it's fine! I don't really think I'll need any of my other clothes unless…"

"Unless?"

"Well, it doesn't matter…" she began to chew on her lip and Lisbon was worried that she would disappear back into her shell just when she was beginning to open up.

"Hey, ask me whatever it is."

Josephine took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Is there anyway I'd be able to go back to school? Tomorrow?"

Ah.

_Well you walked right into that one didn't you,_ the voice in her head chimed gleefully and she felt like banging her head repeatedly against the door. This wasn't something Lisbon had an opinion on because Hightower would have to be asked first, and even then she didn't think the outcome would positive. She had seen cases where children as young as 7 years old had been allowed back to their educations the very next day, but they usually had a parent or guardian present to decide for them.

"It's not really my decision, Jo," she said and she felt her heart sink a little when she saw Josephine begin to bite furiously at her lip again, "but I'll call Hightower and see what she says."

"I just thought going back might take my mind off things, you know? I'd love to just lock myself away and never come out again, but what good is that going to do? I'll need to face the questions and stuff from everyone I know someday so why not do it sooner rather than later? Besides, I haven't been back in almost two weeks."

Two weeks off school? "Why?"

"Because of...well," she ran a hand down the side of her face. "My Mom wouldn't let me go."

_The bruises. Her mom hadn't wanted to cause any trouble so she'd kept her back until they healed._  Lisbon felt herself tensing in anger.  _How long had this been going on for? Why hadn't the school done anything?_

Josephine slid off the counter and joined Lisbon in the entrance to the living room.

"I'll go to bed just incase I do go to school tomorrow. If I can't then that's okay, I don't mind staying here with you." Josephine's voice seemed to be fading internally as she reached the banister of the staircase. She ran her fingers along the wooden frame as if she were caressing a young child.

"I feel safe here."

She smiled at Lisbon in an unspoken 'goodnight' and walked slowly up the stairs without a backwards glance.

Lisbon waited until she heard the creak of Josephine's footsteps in the spare room before picking up her mobile and moving into the kitchen. She still held a small smile. Knowing that a stranger felt safe in your home was something to be proud of. She didn't want to let Josephine down. Lisbon had coped with her own mother's death by engulfing herself in school work, hobbies and looking after her brothers, but was Josephine as  _mentally_  strong as Lisbon had been  _physically_?

"Agent Lisbon?"

"Ma'am."

"Is everything okay? I wasn't expecting to hear from you until tomorrow."

"Yes Ma'am, Josephine is fine,but I have a favour to ask…"

* * *

The United States of America.

USA.

_"Land of the free and home of the brave"_

Everybody sings those words during the national anthem and he feels he sings it with the most pride. With one hand pressed firmly on his pounding heart, he shouts the words to the heavens because he loves his country more than anything in the world. He is proud of the people who make it a safe place to be. He is proud of the people who make it a place to be admired. He is proud of the people who bring their country together for better, for peace. Others, however, he is ashamed of. The waters which leak from his eyes as he sings above all the others are not because he is proud. They are tears alright - tears of goddamn shame. He's ashamed of those who do not love his country as much as him, and one day the bastards will pay for their deeds. It just takes time…

An evening shadow falls across him, a boy leaning lazily on the counter, loudly scratching his money in an attempt to catch his attention. He pretends not to hear him approach, wanting more than anything for the little prick to go away.

'Hey Mister?'

The boy taps the counter with one of his coins, the sound of it exploding in the man's head every time the quarter slams into the wood. The boy isn't even banging it loudly but he feels the anger winding up inside him like a watch spring, a jack in the box ready to jump out at any moment. He snaps his black book shut and turns to face the boy, a clown like smile plastered on his face.

"Dear me, I was in a world of my own there!"

_One that involved smashing this kid like a bug_

"What can I get you, sir?"

The boy pauses, taking a look at his choices and this infuriates the man, makes his eye twitch. The little fuck has brought him out of his planning and he hasn't even decided what he wants yet. He knows that he could kill this boy like  _that_ , but in the environment he's in and a queue beginning to form behind the boy, he can't take the risk.

"Yeah, I'll have one of those."

It sickens him to the core when they don't use manners. They cost nothing. Less than all the money in their precious purses, ignorant fucks.

"This one?" The man thinks he can coax it out of the boy, just one word which is enough to show him he hasn't misjudged him wrongly. Everyone deserves a second chance don't they?

"Yeah, that's what I said."

His throat tickles and he coughs loudly into his hanky. The boy looks at him as if he is a piece of shit stuck to his shoe, and the man has to hand over the boy's purchase without grabbing him by the throat and shoving it down his gullet. His eyes shoot to the woman standing directly behind the boy, huffing impatiently at how slow the purchase is taking, making frequent glances to her watch. That's all everyone is when they come to him; in a rush.

He likes things in threes.  _Rush rush rush_  says a voice in his head. He likes that. The voice is his head. It's his friend.

"Cheers." He is surprised the boy said thank you, but that doesn't stop him glaring at the back of his head as he walks away until the woman from behind him steps forward and clears her throat.

_Red red red_  She's wearing a short red dress.

_John john john_ He likes this name. Why does he like that name? His little black book. It helps him remember things he's forgotten.

"Excuse me?" The woman's voice is shrill and high pitched; it feels like its burning his ears.

_Die die die_

No. He must focus. He mustn't hear the voices now because he has to hear them later. Excitement rushes through him as he thinks about the things to come, the things he has written in his black book. 

"What can I get you?"

Cranberry juice is a drink children enjoy and adults love their wine, but he doesn't care for any of that crap. The smell of a victim's blood as it pools around them on the floor is all he ever longs for after a hard days work. He has to be patient. A wise man once said " _The two most powerful warriors are patience and time"_  and how right he was. Nobody has any idea how much he's given up for this country he loves.

He is the most powerful warrior in the whole fucking world, but his time here is running out.


	14. Starry Red Sky

The morning shadows welcomed Patrick Jane as his climbed down the stairs, rolling his arms to loosen the cramp between his shoulders having slept awkwardly for over three hours. Once again he had fallen asleep at Headquarters, an unfinished book on his chest and arms behind his head, only this time he hadn't woken to find his jacket across his legs which narrowed it down to the one person who had not been on duty last night, Teresa Lisbon. She had denied it when he confronted her, claiming it was one of the cleaners feeling sorry for the poor man who loved to sleep on the sofa all the time. The image of her face was dashed from him mind by a sudden vibration from his inside pocket but the image returned when he saw who the sender was. However, his heart sank when he read the message:

**_\- Hve 2 look aftr Jo. Sorry, c u Thurs. L_ **

An excuse was all it was. She'd chickened out at the last minute and decided to make up a rubbish excuse not to go. There was no way he was going to believe that. And text language, bah! She knew how much it annoyed him, missing out letters and shortening words by using numbers, he just didn't understand why people did it...which was probably why she used as much non-standard grammar as she possibly could in any of her texts.

He was halfway through his returning text when a thought struck him. What if this wasn't an excuse? What if she generally could not meet him tonight because she  _was_ looking after Josephine? A plane flew over his head leaving white mist behind in its wake, disturbing the cloudless blue sky. His eyes followed it until it became a black spec in the distance, before looking down at his phone knowing exactly what he was going to reply.

* * *

There was a knock at the door and Lisbon hurriedly threw her empty soda can into the bin as she unlocked the door.

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

Josephine scraped her feet on the doormat and walked into the living room, dropping her bag and coat on the nearby chair. Lisbon gave a wave of thanks to the officer in the car before closing the door behind her. She was back. Lisbon could breathe a sigh of relief.

"I told you it wouldn't be bad! What did you think was going to happen?"

"I thought everyone would ask me loads of questions and pester me to give them details about what happened. But they didn't. They either left me alone or just told me they were sorry for what happened." Josephine slumped down into the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. "Some of them wouldn't even come near me, like they thought I might go all Jo-rage on them. It was so annoying, but I understand why they did it. They don't know how I'm going to react to anything, am I going to shout and scream or run away and cry, nobody knows. It's like playing Russian roulette only I'm the gun and a simple yes or no answer is going to set me off."

"It's good that you understand,"Lisbon said sitting down in the chair opposite, "I've seen others lashing out at those who stay away or retreating into themselves because they want everything to go-"

"-back to the way it was." She finished Lisbon's sentence with a long sigh. "Yeah…I don't think closing people off is the best way to deal with it. If you open up to the right people you learn to see the world in a different way, and begin to accept that what happens happens and then move on." She turned her gaze away from the ceiling and looked into Lisbon's eyes. "I've accepted that, so why don't I feel anything yet?"

"Patience. You might not be saying that when it sinks in. Right," she clapped her hands together and jumped to her feet, "want something to eat now or later?"

"I'll have it whenever you're have yours"

"I was planning on putting something in now but I don't mind waiting…"

"You're talking to someone with double the appetite of the average person. I sometimes wonder where the food actually goes!" She wobbled the non existent fat around her stomach. Lisbon laughed as she made her way into the kitchen knowing the sooner she got the oven heated up the quicker the food would be ready to eat. "You're not the only one girl! It's just a shame my cooking is so bad!"

Josephine picked up her bag and shook her head disappointedly, a smirk playing on her lips. "You shouldn't put yourself down, Teresa. I haven't died or gotten ill from anything you've made me have I? I think you're a much better cook than you think you are. Give me a shout if you need any help!" She tapped the top of the banister once and bounded up the stairs into her bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her. 10 minutes later, the smile had still not disappeared from Lisbon's face and showed no signs of vanishing any time soon.

Last night when Lisbon had called Hightower and summarised why Josephine wanted to go back to school, her Boss hadn't ask any questions. Instead she gave permission for Josephine to attend school on the condition that an officer escort her there and back again. After a short phone call to the Headmistress, Lisbon had gone to sleep feeling pleased with herself. She was to make sure Josephine walked safely into the school and was escorted home by the assigned officer, who would drive her back to the house. As soon as Lisbon had said goodbye to Hightower, she raced upstairs to tell Josephine the good news and the smile on her face reminded Lisbon that her job wasn't just about catching the 'bad guys'; it was putting a smile back on the faces of those who had suffered  _because_ of the 'bad guys'.

This morning she had been brushing her teeth in the kitchen, giving up the bathroom for Josephine to prepare herself, when she froze mid brush. She was supposed to be meeting Jane today to begin the first of their 'Five Days of Jisbon'. Today. Her heart sank. There was no way she would be able to meet him today, not with it being Josephine's first day back. She'd have to stay here in case anything happened at school and she wouldn't stop worrying until the girl was returned safely back to the house where Lisbon could easily keep an eye on her.

The text took less than ten seconds to compose but sending had been difficult, once again having to fight against the counter self inside her mind. She scrolled down to find his name in her address book and with every click of the button her heart sank a little more in her chest. Her thumb circled over the 'Send' button, thoughts stirring as a voice in the back of her mind purred, " _What if you don't press it?"_

'But that isn't an option, is it?' she argued, 'I'm taking valuable time off work to look after this girl who I have been given the job of looking after.'

" _But this is your chance to relax, to enjoy yourself; to meet with the man whose mystery keeps your heart wanting more."_

'I'm sure he'll understand. This may be the first break off work I've had in a while, but that doesn't give me a reason to abandon the poor girl.' Before she could change her mind she sent the message. She threw the phone onto the sofa and slowly scraped her hair back off her face, heart sinking in disappointment but it lifted when the phone buzzed energetically between the cushions. She lunged forwards, cursing as she caught her knee on the little table, and opened the message:

**_\- Nice try Lisbon! I'll come to you then. Can't get rid of me that easily!_ **

**_\- P.S. When are you going to start spelling properly?_ **

She smiled at the last sentence, thinking back to when he had told her how much he hated people shortening their words to make texting quicker. He was coming here? To her _house_? She glanced around the living room, taking in the magazines strewn across the floor and the unwashed plates balanced in a pile in the corner. Her shoulders sagged. She would have to do yet  _more_  cleaning to make an impression for someone coming to her house. Why couldn't people just accept mess, why did they have to be so picky?

And that was why, twelve hours later, Lisbon stood nervously in front of the mirror waiting for the knock at the door, living room now mess free and smelling of the jasmine and pine air freshener she had found whilst retrieving the vacuum from its cupboard. She'd told Josephine that her friend Jane was coming over for a little while, but that wasn't to stop her from coming down if she needed anything. When she heard the soft tap on the door she waited a few seconds before opening it, not wanting to seem too eager.

He stood in the doorway, arms laden with an assortment of objects and a cheeky smile across his face.

"Ah ha! You can open the door so that's a good sign."

"Hello to you too.."

"I brought tea and biscuits," he shook his arms and Lisbon saw that what she thought had been a cluster of objects was just a little thatched hamper and a flask, "isn't that a good enough welcome? Okay fine, good evening Lisbon. Would you care to join me outside?"

"You mean we're going to sit on my doorstep and drink tea?"

"It's a beautiful night!" He waggled his free pinkie finger energetically towards the night sky.

"But it's cold…"

"No it's not!

"Yes it is."

"No it's not!"

"Says you. You're the one holding a flask of hot tea."

"Well hurry up and I'll pour you a cup to wrap your hands around while we talk under the stars!"

"Wow," she laughed, "that's really…" she stopped herself from carrying on realising what she had just been about to say. 'Romantic'. She had actually been about to say 'romantic', even though she knew this wasn't supposed to be a date or a fairytale type evening. Just a get together between two colleagues. Yes, that's what it was. That's all it would ever be.

"Cold shmold! Stick a jumper on or something. Do you need to borrow my jacket?" He then began what Lisbon thought was a funny little dance, jerking his shoulders and shaking his arms, before she realised he was attempting to take his jacket off without putting anything down. She bit her bottom lip to prevent herself from laughing, but she couldn't help snickering when he finally caught her eye and saw her watching him spin in circles.

"I'll go and get a jacket from inside."

"Are you sure? Because I-"

"Save it. I'll be back in a second"

"Don't take too long, your tea will get cold!"

She ran into the lounge and closed the door, thinking frantically back to where she had last seen her black jacket. This was why she never cleaned up around the house because she could never remember where she had put anything when it was tidied away. In three strides she was opening the hamper at the bottom of the stairs, digging desperately around through water proofs and spare CBI jackets, until she found it rolled up in the corner. Her brother's jacket, the one he had given her when it had become too small for him to wear.

Throughout their teenage years each one of her brothers had gone through a phase of being obsessed with the band KISS; posters covering every inch of their walls, crazy haircuts and blaring the music loud enough to make the neighbours groan. It had driven Lisbon crazy to the point of actually hiding the stereo plug so they couldn't blast out any more KISS. Lisbon liked KISS, but the saying 'too much of a good thing' was really put to the test.

Out of all four of them, her brother James had been the most creative, painting and drawing wherever and whenever he could on anything he could get his hands on. He was the one who had given her the jacket, and it was special because on the back he had drawn and painted the four members of KISS. She remembered how jealous she had been when he had first shown it to her, but now she was in awe at how perfect each brush stroke was, immaculate in comparison to a photo of the famous four. She had deemed it her 'lucky jacket' because every time she wore it to a game her team  _always_  won. Right now she didn't know why luck was needed, but she wanted a part of her family to be with her on this beautiful night.

"What're you doing in there, putting on one jumper or the whole wardrobe?" Jane's voice called through the door.

"Oh hush"

"Ah good, you are still there. I was beginning to think you'd escaped out of the back window."

"The thought had crossed my mind," she said playing along with him, "but then that would only have made this visit more enjoyable for you."

"Why would your disappearance do that?"

"Because then you would get to drink all the tea."

"Oh! Very funny Lisbon, very funny."

She smiled to herself as she pulled on the jacket and attempted to shove all the clothes littering the floor back into the hamper. So much for keeping it neat and tidy…

As she walked back over to the door, she peeked through the glass and watched him pour two measured mugs of tea, wisps of warmth curling into the night air.

"So…" she said, closing the door and accepting the mug he was offering her, "what shall we talk about?" She sipped her tea innocently, knowing exactly what she  _wanted_  to talk but felt rude going straight into it. Jane looked at her for a moment, eyes unmoving before his face dissolved into laughter.

"I cannot believe you just asked me that when we both know full well what you want to talk about."

"I was just being polite!"

"You were going to wait for me to answer your question before starting weren't you, no matter what my reply. I could have said that I wanted to talk about trees and you would have just changed the subject."

He was right. "That's not true!"

"Yes it is."

"Well we might as well get it out of the way then. We'll start in the present and work our way backwards?"

"As you wish…"

"Right, I'll start by asking you why-"

"Hang on, wait, stop!" Jane waved his arms around wildly, spilling nothing from the cup in his hand unlike Lisbon who jumped a foot in the air and spilled tea all over her jeans.

"Jane! What the-"

"Here, hang on," he put down his cup and rummaged around in the hamper, pulling out various packets of biscuits and multi coloured cutlery and finally a packet of red spotted napkins. She frowned at him as she took one from the packet and began to dab at the tea stain. He was lucky it hadn't gone on her jacket.

"I'm sorry, it's just you said it would be an informal interview so-"

"-I never said that! You-" She tried to protest but her words were lost under his cheery tone.

"-I thought maybe you could ask the questions and I'll answer with a mere yes or no. It'll test your skills and answer your questions without seeming all 'stick-to-the-book'-ish."

"But that means you can withhold information from me!"

"Make sure you ask the right questions then." He sipped his tea and she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. He was enjoying this.

"Even if I did ask you the right questions, there's no guaranteeing you'll tell the truth is there?"

"Now hold on a second Grumpy,"Lisbon watched as he put down his empty cup and turned so he could look her straight in the eyes. The mischievous expression on his face had evaporated to be replaced with a more serious one. He looked somewhat hurt by her words. "I didn't organise these 'Five Days of Jisbon' just for us to have a little chat. I organised them because I wanted to gain the trust you lack so much from me and, you know what, I'm glad I did. It's morally disheartening seeing you question me all the time. I can see that over these next few days I'll have my work cut out."

" _You_  have your work cut out? Excuse me-"

"Come on, first question?"

"Fine. Is your name Patrick Jane?"

Jane gave a confident nod, but she caught him rolling his eyes and she couldn't help smiling.

"Nothing wrong with giving a practise question so I can see how this'll work."

"It's not really that difficult…" she heard him mutter but she pretended not to have heard.

"Did Marianne Odell ring you the day before she died?" He nodded.

"Did you speak to her before that day, maybe a couple of days or weeks before?"

Again, a confident nod which she had expected having been shown Jane's phone records from the past 3 months by Van Pelt, most of which were to or from herself.

Now she was thinking on a whim, making up questions off the top of her head which followed similar guidelines to the way she would normally interrogate someone.

"Did you meet up with her anytime at all recently?"

He shook his head.

"Have you met up with her since she started calling you 2 months ago?"

He raised an eyebrow, curious as to why she had such a precise figure, but when he saw she wasn't going to explain he shook his head.

"Do you know why she called you from a payphone the last time you spoke and not from inside the house?"

He shook his head.

"Okay, did she say anything out of the ordinary? Maybe she sounded different, worried, scared?"

He scrunched up his face and rocked his head from side to side, lips miming a silent 'Meh', but he eventually gave a small nod.

"So she didn't give you any information at all regarding why she was worried or why she was phoning from a-"

He broke off the end of her sentence with a long sigh, eyes slowly closing as the air left his lungs and he seemed to wilt forwards, elbows resting on his knees. He shook his head.

"Okay," she drew out the last syllable, trying to think of another question to ask. Really, he had answered all there was to know about his phone calls with Marianne, apart from what they had said on the eve of her death, but how they knew each other lay in an entirely different conversation. One that they wouldn't be having tonight because, somehow, she knew it would take some time to unravel.

A sudden thought struck her. She knew where to lead the conversation but approaching it would be challenging. His stormy grey eyes were submerged in stars as he gazed sadly out into the inky black sky. She took a moment to study him, prominent jaw line arched upwards to the sky, the curls of his hair falling messily just above his collar. She fought the urge to reach out and brush her hand across his face; this man sitting on her door step, the outside of him shining in the moonlight yet the inside was filled with sadness and shadows. It made her senses burn with longing. She wanted to take away all his pain. She continued to stare before realising he could be watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"You've been speaking on and off these past few months," she said pulling him back from the wonder of the stars, "did she mention anything about her husband? Places he'd been recently or people he'd brought into the house?"

He shook his head.

"Did she…mention anything about Josephine?" She tried to keep her voice casual when inside she could hear her heart screaming for her to stop.

An invisible curtain flashed over his eyes and she saw him clasp his hands tightly together in front of him. He nodded his head. She didn't need to be a body language expert to see that this was a subject he was not comfortable talking about but curiosity pushed her on. Turning away from him she traced a finger around the handle of her cup and asked, "Did you know she was suffering from domestic abuse?"

The lids of his eyes slowly closed and the tension between them was kicked up a notch, a cold shiver brushing the back of her neck. She knew what his answer was going to be. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry," she said, saving the 'how' and 'why' questions for another time, "have you ever met her?" She faced him now, willing him to turn and look at her but his eyes remained closed, head bowed as if in prayer. With what looked like an enormous amount of effort, Jane shook his head. Only then did she realise she had been holding her breath in anticipation, and she let it out as slowly as she could before asking the question she longed to pursue.

"Would you…like to meet her?"

"No." She flinched at the force of the word. He gave an exasperated sigh. "I came here to answer your questions about the case not to be counselled."

"I didn't mean it in that way! I thought-"

"Teresa," his voice was quiet, low and desperate, and her voice vanished at the sound of her first name. She felt her pulse quicken as he turned his gaze to meet hers, "please, not now. Another time. I promise." he whispered. She wanted to believe him, but he had lied to her so many times before what made this promise any different?

"Now it's your turn to tell me something about you. Wait! Twenty questions! You've asked me questions so it's my turn now." Something inside her sank; annoyed at how quickly he could change from being a person so vulnerable and pleading to someone who sounded as if they'd just won an all expenses paid holiday. It was like speaking to two different people.  _And you're one to judge, are you? It's not like you haven't got anything hidden beneath the surface is it?_

She suddenly didn't feel like talking anymore.

"It's getting late, Jane."

"Well that's not fair." He tipped his head to one side, resting his cheek on his palm.

"It is! And I'm tired…"  _I'm scared of what you'll ask me because I've upset you…_

"Funny, I haven't seen you yawn once. And what have you got on tomorrow that's so important apart from our second day?"

"Don't push it Mr."

"Ten questions then!"

"Five."

" _Five_? Come on, can't I have any fun?" He rolled his eyes at the expression on her face. "Fine…five questions of yes or no." His eyes slid over to meet hers and a slow grin crept across his face. She was so glad it was dark because he couldn't see her cheeks burning. "Not scared are you?"

"Is that the first question?"

"Hmm…you hide it well but I know you are. First question, do you own more than one dress; cocktail or summer."

She stifled a laugh, taken aback by how random the question was. There was no need for her to lie. She did in fact own more than one dress…three. And she could describe the texture and place from which each one came from.

"Yes."

"If I was look in your DVD stash would romantic comedy's appear more than any other genre?"

They were her guilty pleasure. That and listening to ' _Wannabe_ ' whenever she felt down.

"No."

"Now look who's lying. You like listening to country music in the car?"

"Yes."

"You don't like not feeling in control because it makes you feel agitated?"

She sighed. "You're guessing now..."

"Nah, I knew it was a yes anyway. You've read all of the Harry Potter books?"

Oh please, no. Even her brothers, who weren't speaking, all shared the same delight; pestering her to read the seven books ignoring the fact that she'd seen  _all_  the movies because apparently that 'wasn't the same'.

"Yes…"

"Surely not. Lisbon, is that a  _no_? Dumbledore would be disappointed. Your favourite colour is navy blue?"

"Yes. Haven't we passed five quest-?" He interrupted her.

"That jacket isn't yours?"

"No it's not, haven't we-" Again he interrupted her, his eyes sparkling. He knew what he wasn't going to let her stop him.

"It's your lucky jacket?"

"Funny how a lot of these aren't really questions they're just lucky guesses. My brother-"

"-gave you it and I'm guessing he painted the design on the back?"

"He did."

"Unlike many women, you're not afraid of spiders?"

"Nope."

"A hundred dollars; keep it or give it away?"

"Hey, that's not a yes or no question!"

"Rain or shine?"

"That one isn't either..."

"Blonde or brunette?"

Seeing that he wasn't going to give up anytime soon, she decided to play along. "Both."

"Roses; a bouquet or a single flower?"

"A single flower."

"Chocolate or vanilla?"

"Hmm…chocolate."

"Run or walk?"

"My job mostly  _is_ running," she said and she couldn't help muttering, "after you most of the time."

"Basketball or football?"

"Tie-breaker, you know I love both."

"Movie or TV series?

"Jane-"

"Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp?"

"Jane."

"I'm sorry Lisbon," he said with a smirk, "I'm not one of the options."

" _Jane!_ "

"That's right Lisbon, let it all out. If you don't release the anger throttling your insides soon it's going to boil over and hurt you or you'll hurt someone else. It's driving you away from people, shattering the bond you have with your brothers and stopping you from letting anyone new into your life. Whatever's causing your fury is also causing you to drink which both angers you more and scares you, because you don't want to become like your father who I think is one of the reasons you're so-"

" _Enough_."

She could feel her nostrils flaring as rage flooded her brain, unleashing adrenaline through her veins and it took all her willpower not lash out at him.

"Is this all because I suggested you meet Josephine? If I upset you, you know it was unintentional. I didn't mean it." The cup in her hand was going to shatter at any moment as her grip around the handle tightened. She uncurled her fingers and slowly placed the empty cup on the step between them, preventing any inevitable accidents. After all, breaking something would only encourage him to expand on his theory.

"I said I was sorry didn't I, but that isn't enough for you is it? You  _have_  to be childish and make  _me_ feel bad about myself too." She stood, waiting for him to say something in return but silence was his only response.

He had built up the conversation, like he always did, put her in a good mood before smashing in a speech of true to life jargon which aggravated or upset her. He seemed to go out of his way just to vex her more than anybody else.

"Just because somebody hurts you it doesn't mean you have to return the favour. 'Two wrongs don't make a right', ever heard that saying before? Thank you for the tea." She twisted the door handle and stepped inside.

"I shouldn't have brought up your father," he said firmly, stopping her in the doorway, "but you need to talk about whatever it is getting you worked up. It'll help."

"Oh yeah?" she turned her head slightly to speak over her shoulder, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice "maybe you should take your own advice."

"Maybe I should." He was packing everything up into the hamper very slowly, avoiding eye contact but she could tell he was being honest. Silence ensued as he finished buckling up the hamper before continuing. "Now that we know where we both stand, and what we need to talk about, the next few days will be more interesting. Unlocking truths and delving into the past it'll be like a TV drama, flashbacks and cliff-hangers included."

"It won't be easy," she whispered and something in her voice made him look at her, "even you know it won't be. Some things are best left where they are so you can move forward."

"But you can't move forward if the things in the past are holding you back." His words hit her hard. "We'll meet tomorrow, at the place of your choice, and begin unlocking our trepidations." He stood up and tucked the hamper under his arm, the empty flask swinging in his other hand. "We could even make it into a game if you like; pretend we're meeting each other for the first time."

She leaned against the door and shook her head, the corners of her mouth betraying her by twitching into a smirk. "I'm looking forward to it already…"

"I'll see you tomorrow Lisbon," he said, choosing to ignore the sarcasm in her voice, "Call me when you've decided on a place to meet."

Shadows rose and fell as he crossed into the streetlamp basking his little blue car in an orange spotlight. When he reached it he pulled open the door and threw his hamper and flask into the passenger seat. She saw him hesitate, one foot planted in the car while the other remained on the pavement, as if not sure whether to get in. He suddenly turned towards her and her heart leapt, eyes gazing questioningly at him, but she knew he would never be able to see them in the dim doorway. His mouth was open, conjuring up parting words, no doubt a sarcastic remark or foolish joke.

"I told you it would be a beautiful night."

With that, he gave a half smile and a little wave before getting into his car and driving off down the road, leaving Lisbon to ponder on his words as she closed the door. Indeed it had been a beautiful night, but had he meant more than that? Or was she making a big thing out of nothing? She folded her jacket neatly and placed it on the banister as a reminder to ring her brother, having not heard from him in a couple of months. She turned to look at the living room and the little voice in her head couldn't resist saying, " _Great, you cleaned up for nothing."_

As she silently got ready for bed, she tried to think back to the last time she had sat down with someone and actually had a proper conversation about life and the world in general. She had kept her problems and worries to herself for so long, she didn't know if she  _could_  share them with somebody else. There hadn't been anyone she could trust in her life for so long  - she had no parents to call up and talk to, her brothers came and went as they pleased, visiting every five or six months, and she didn't have any close friends to talk to anymore. The last time she had seen someone from her high school had been in the supermarket last year when Joe Sanders had approached her to say he had seen her on the news a couple of days before.

Maybe talking to somebody would help her wrestle with her emotions and cut down on the drink. The only thing she was scared of was telling Jane so much about her only to have nothing told in return, because then she would feel angry and embarrassed. She was ready to open up to some things from her past, dark memories she dared share with nobody. If she could let him into her past, why couldn't he do the same for her?


End file.
